It is with a heavy heart that I write to you today about my hero, my father Albert Mercado. Albert began experiencing chest pains, prompting him and my mom to rush to our local urgent care. Subsequently, he was admitted to the emergency room, where they informed us that he would be held for observation. During this critical time, it was discovered that his kidney function had failed, leading to immediate dialysis. An angiogram revealed that his heart was only performing at 30%. The medical team, scheduled to discuss his options, arrived late in the evening at 9:30 pm while Albert was alone.

They presented the difficult choice of either open-heart surgery, deemed high risk due to his age and health, or arthroscopic surgery. The latter procedure had been successfully undergone twice before. After much deliberation, he was swiftly transferred to St. Joseph for the arthroscopic surgery to implant new stents. Tragically, during the procedure, his heart went into ventricular fibrillation, and a stent collapsed. Despite efforts to clear the stent and 90 minutes of resuscitation attempts, his heart, weakened by the ordeal, could not endure, and he passed away in the surgery room.

I never anticipated having to make decisions about when to cease CPR on my dad. We had all expected to be visiting him that night, hopeful for his heart's recovery, but this time, his heart was not strong enough.

My father was born in 1943 in Santa Ana, CA. He was a first-generation American citizen who put himself through college and law school. He financed his education by serving six years in the California Highway Patrol. He loved the outdoors, hunting, fishing, boating, and the sea. Above all, though, he loved my mother. He married my mother in 1969, and they just celebrated their 54th anniversary. He loved his children, even though, Lord knows, raising me and my three crazy siblings was no easy task. He lived a clean and healthy 80 years, but with him gone, I can tell you it was not enough. We all still want him here, and I know he wanted to be there for the upcoming high school graduations of his grandchildren.

When he was in the hospital, we talked about building his body back up to go on fishing trips we had been delaying. My mother and my sisters had similar designs and dreams for the coming years. Now, I would like to have just at least one more day. I love you, Dad.

We are raising money for my mother to be able to cover the unplanned costs of his medical expenses, funeral costs, and this unforeseen life transition.