Twenty-three years ago on May 26, 1994, a team of cardiologist at Barnes Jewish Hospital (St. Louis) explained to my father and his family that they had no more answers for his damaged heart, which they had successfully treated for 21-years. The heart's weakness was beyond modern medical magic. I will forever remember the moment my father was being guided on a hospital bed down the corridor of a cardiology unit. Several doctors and nurses who knew my father quite well over the years shook his hand or touched his shoulder as they said their goodbyes. My father would be taken to another floor where he would be made comfortable as he faced final hours of life. I recall one cardiologist saying to Dad, "Mr. Roustio, I'm so sorry we have no answer." My Dad with a smile on his face consoled the young doctor and thanked him for the care.
In the early morning hours of May 27, 1994, Dad left his earthly journey. As I sat with my wife on the edge of his bed while the nurse confirmed his passing, I looked upon a man who had been so much to so many. I looked at a man who loved life more than anyone I have ever known. I looked at a man who taught his three sons how to live and leave with dignity and humility.
(Touch)
Precious Memories
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