My name is Keila Weary. My family and I live in York, Pennsylvania which is in south central PA. I am grateful to be part of this opportunity and to share my dad’s story and who he was. It took several days for me to get the courage to go back and relive the most horrible weeks of my life. My dad, Michael Anthony Addlesberger, was a healthy 57-year-old who had retired from owning his roofing business of 30 years just 2 weeks prior to getting sick. My dad was never sick, didn’t take any medications, and had no pre-existing conditions. He was the strongest person I had ever known. He was funny, the life of the party, and always there for his family. He would have done anything for us and always made sure we had what we needed.

Our nightmare began in July 2021. My husband and I both had Covid. I was terrified for our baby who was just 3 months old. We were nearing the end of our symptoms when my mom told me she was having symptoms. Once again, I became afraid.  I remember telling my husband, “You just don’t know how it’s going to affect you”.  Mom recovered and that’s when dad started showing symptoms. The fear once again returned, but I thought my dad would get through it just like the rest of us and we will move on.  I hadn’t seen my parents in weeks because of quarantines. I had been keeping in touch with my dad every day. He had a fever, chills, and a cough. He had to sleep downstairs on the couch because it was too much effort for him to go upstairs. Mom stayed upstairs and listened for him if he needed any assistance. I called him on Friday and he said I needed to text him because he couldn’t talk. I knew this wasn’t right and told him he needed to call his doctor or go to the hospital. He received an antibiotic from his doctor and would manage at home on August 20, 2021. The next evening things got worse. I later found out he couldn’t breathe in the middle of the night and had he not had his inhaler he didn’t think he would be here. The next day he walked into the hospital. His oxygen was 89%. He was admitted and given supplemental O2. He was improving. The next day my mom called and said dad wanted all of us kids to call him because he didn’t think he was going to make it. I thought my dad was just thinking the worst, but deep down I was wondering if this was really happening.  He told me he was woken up in the middle of the night when a bunch of nurses came into his room and put him on his stomach because his oxygen had suddenly decreased. (This was after his first dose of Remdesivir.)

That day, the pediatrician had given me the ok to give my baby her first real food. I had looked forward to this day for weeks and now I couldn’t even enjoy it. I sent videos of her eating to my dad trying to take his mind off things and maybe he would even smile. I felt so bad for him. He spent all day and night laying on his stomach facing the wall. He couldn’t lift his head without his oxygen level dropping.  All he could do was lay there, thinking about everything that was happening, no distractions, and only 1 visitor was allowed. My mom was at the hospital everyday with him and had to help him with meals. He would lift his head, take a bite, and lay his head back down to chew in order to maintain his oxygen.  My brother suggested we send him pictures of us to remind him what he was fighting for. I put together a collage for him. Mom took it to him and he couldn’t even look at it. He was so upset that he might not be here for us; he didn’t want to leave his family. Dad kept needing more and more oxygen. I knew this wasn’t right. He should be needing less and less. I kept my knowledge to myself. I didn’t want anyone else to know what I knew. Dad eventually stopped taking phone and facetime calls. He couldn’t talk due to his low oxygen levels, and he didn’t want us to see him in this condition or to see how upset he was. He was always thinking of everyone else first. I could barely sleep at night and would text him as soon as I thought he would be awake in the morning. I anxiously waited to see that he had read my text or even better receive a text back to know that he had made it through another night. I was exhausted, but I had to keep praying.  After all, how exhausted was he? I couldn’t believe this was happening. I kept telling myself and dad that tomorrow will be better. The doctors thought he was going to make it too. They said he would hit a peak and he would start to improve. His inflammation was down to zero which all sounded good. I felt so helpless not being able to go see him. I wanted constant updates just hoping for the slightest sign of progress. Dad did what the doctors told him to do. He laid on his stomach for 7 days straight. He just wanted out of there.

On August 29, my mom asked us kids to come to the house. I knew it wasn’t going to be good. She told us dad had to go on the ventilator. The hospital had given us permission to visit with him for 1 hour because he had asked the doctor if he could see his kids. I hadn’t seen my dad in weeks and I remember the lump in my throat on the drive there. The walk to his room seemed like the longest, loneliest walk of my life. How was he going to look?  What was I going to say?  As soon as I walked into his room, I lost it. The tears poured from my eyes and I hugged my dad. He shook his head and hands” no” because I was upsetting him, and it was making it very difficult to breathe. This was the worst thing I have EVER seen. I knew I had to get it together for my dad. I didn’t want to make it worse for him or for him to see the fear in my eyes. I didn’t say much. I didn’t say all the things I wanted to say because he would get upset. I couldn’t tell him how much I loved him and that he was a great dad. He told us to help our mom and to go have fun at my brother’s wedding in 3 weeks. I told him he was making the right decision going on the ventilator because I couldn’t bear the thought of him struggling for breath another minute longer and thought he just needed to give his lungs a break so they would have a chance to heal.  This is what the doctor told us.  I watched my dad sign a paper that he wanted to remain on life support as long as he had a chance at living. As I was walking out of his room, I told him that I loved him, and I would see him in a couple days. I had to believe this.  I had to stay positive for my dad. How glorious was it going to be the day he woke up from the ventilator? I’ll never forget him watching us in the hallway through the window as we walked away. That night the doctor decided to give him more time on the c-pap before going on the ventilator. I was relieved, maybe tomorrow would be better, but also felt bad that dad would have another night of struggling for air. My dad looked healthy and had no complaints other than difficulty breathing.

The next morning, he texted mom, “they are doing it today”.  Mom rushed to the hospital so he could facetime us kids. I was rocking my baby when he called. He was laying on his stomach waving to us. I told him I loved him again. I didn’t know this was the last time I would see him awake. He looked exhausted. I later found out he had told my mom he was scared that he wasn’t going to make it. The next 2 weeks were a nightmare. He had 3 chest tubes and had to be transported to a more advanced hospital for better treatment. The transport would be a challenge and dangerous for him.  This hospital allowed 2 visitors so I was able to go with mom every day to sit with him, hold his hands and monitor his progress. The next 2 weeks were a rollercoaster of good and bad days.  One day he would make progress, we were so happy, hopeful and excited to be sharing the news with friends and family to the next day losing progress and not even wanting to talk to the same family and friends. Was this all really happening? There was nothing I could do. How could I just sit back and accept what was happening. I prayed harder than I had ever prayed.  I begged God not to take my dad from me.  I felt like I was hanging by a thread; living someone else’s life.

He had been on and off paralytics for days.  One day dad was on the paralytic, but still managed to first squeeze my older brother’s hand, who thought he was just imagining it, but later he squeezed both mine and moms’ hands at the same time.  This is how strong he was!  What a joy and surprise that was!  Did he know we were there? Was he telling us he was ok?  He fought until the end to be here with us. He had been through so much if he had only known.

The night before he passed, we stayed at the hospital late into the night because his oxygen was hovering around 84%. We wanted to see that number higher before we felt comfortable leaving. It never improved. We prayed that night and every night that he would make it through the night to see him another day.  We wanted our miracle!  We would be there for dad for whatever he needed; just let him come home to us.

The dreaded phone call finally came the morning of September 12th. The nurse said we needed to come in. OMG!  NO!  It can’t be!  They are wrong!  They don’t know my dad! They don’t know his strength and will to live!  We found out his kidneys were no longer working; his blood oxygen level was low and his body was shutting down. We were told he wouldn’t make it through the day.  My mom wanted him to pass with dignity and asked them to remove life support.  It was the hardest decision we have ever made. We couldn’t be selfish; he had been through so much and was showing us, he was tired. We wanted to be with dad when he took his last breath. We had to help him go to the other side. The moment came.  It was time to remove life support.  I still had hope we would get our miracle that he would breathe on his own when they removed the tube.  I watched my amazing dad take his last breath with my mom and 2 brothers at his side holding his hands. I watched an amazing life come to an end just like that. I relieve this moment every day.  Did we do everything we could?  Should we have given him more time on the ventilator?

I didn’t want to sleep that night because the next day would be the first day in nearly 33 years that I would have to live without my dad.  The days since, I have reflected on my life and my dad’s presence in my life. I think about him all day, every day and miss him deeply. He was always there for us and loved us unconditionally. He told us how it was.  He didn’t sugarcoat things. We always did things as a family and I had just had my first baby, his first granddaughter. Each day is hard without him. The day after we buried dad, my brother got married. It was a hard day, the first family event without him. Some days I still can’t believe that all this happened. I never thought I would lose my dad at 32 years old. I could have had 30 more years with my dad and it still wouldn’t have been enough. It’s hard being a new mom and grieving the loss of a parent. I do believe my daughter came into my life at the right time to help me through all of this. It’s bittersweet watching her grow. There’s always that dark reminder of the new skills she learned that dad wasn’t there for. I struggle with the fact that my dad knew he was going on the ventilator. What was his last thought? Was he worried about not being here for us?  I can’t imagine.  I wish I could have taken all his fears and worries away.

I have a lot of sad and angry days, but I am grateful for the dad that I had. My dad didn’t deserve what he went through.  No one does. I am grateful I got to be with him in the last few weeks as many families didn’t get that opportunity. Knowing what I know now and all the heartache we have been through, I would still choose him as my dad.  He left behind his wife of 34 years, 2 sons, 1 daughter, 2 grandsons, 1 granddaughter, a mother, 2 sisters and many more friends and family. He was well known in the community from his business and relationships he developed with clients. Life will never be the same without him. I talk about him every opportunity I get and tell my baby all about him.  Dad made all of us strong over the years and now I know why.  I hope I am making him proud of me.

I wrote this after my dad passed away.  After taking time to reflect on things and process all the information, I believe the doctors could have done more to help him. I am a physical therapist and we were always told to get people up out of bed and moving to prevent pneumonia, yet my dad laid in bed for a week prior to the ventilator which I believed worsened his symptoms. Our family was trusting the doctors and we were in shock from everything that was going on and I personally didn’t have the mindset to see what was really going on. Whether he died from Covid or from lack of treatment/treatment received, he deserves justice as do all families with loved ones who died from this infection/protocols. They also made us jump through hoops to get his medical records and didn’t send the full record.