My Dad's Health Was Failing — So I Made A Split-Second Decision That Changed Both Of Our Lives

It was Super Bowl Sunday, and I was determined to get my dad to the game.

We were at the assisted living facility in the suburbs of Chicago that I’d helped him select. When he first moved in at age 91, four years after my mom died, he’d been thriving. He threw himself into the singalongs, movie nights and chair-volleyball games. He even had a new lady friend who became his nightly dinner companion at their favorite table for two.

“You’re pretty busy these days,” I said to him on the phone three weeks after he moved in.

“You don’t know the half of it,” he said.

Now, a year and a half later, he’d gained 30 pounds, lost his ability to operate his computer and was suffering from congestive heart failure.

I had come to Chicago from New York City for what I thought was going to be a three-week visit. Being 54, divorced and childless gave me the freedom to come see my dad on my own time. When I arrived, I saw how much he had declined from the previous time I’d seen him just one month earlier. He teetered when standing and often seemed confused after waking up from a nap.

During my visit, we watched the Chicago Bears games, just as we did when I was a boy. Back then, with my three older siblings away at college, I became his football buddy for the games at Soldier Field.

Dad had unique ways of making those afternoons fun. Before every big play, he cheered “Go get ’em, Steve,” as if I was going to get the ball. Before every punt, he yelled “It’s a fake,” and was giddy the few times he was right.

Every game began with him harmonizing the national anthem. And every afternoon ended with us leaving early to beat the crowd, something we also did for every Cubs, Bulls and Blackhawks game we attended.

“We got the aura,” he said,