Eulogy
Did you know?
Mike was the third in a succession of uncles/nephews, all born on February 14 (Valentine’s Day) all exactly 23 years apart. Mike’s uncle Ralph was born that same day 23 years before him. Ralph’s uncle (Mike’s great uncle), was born on Valentine’s Day 23 years before Ralph. AND…that great uncle’s last name was Valentino!
Always concerned with safety in his job particularly surrounding the issue of patient care while under anesthesia, Mike created a type of Emergency Cart which allowed for quick reference and access to necessary medicines and life-saving techniques should a situation arise. Mike acknowledged the added risk in administering anesthesia outside of a hospital setting. The cart provided an extra measure of safety. He traveled many times around the state to speak of this emergency cart and to show other dental professionals how they could create the same in their office. His former partner Jay Platt explained, “Mike was instrumental in working with the state dental board for developing standards for dentists that deliver IV sedation or general anesthesia in office. These still hold today. His emergency cart was and is ahead of its time. In fact, I am very involved in the American Association of Oral and Maxillofacial Surgeons and they have gone to something similar but not nearly as good. When teaching, I use Mike's system. It was and is ingenious. In fact years ago he was apportioned by Ace Surgical Supply who wanted to market his system. He refused as he wanted it to be available to all who wanted to put it together and didn't feel it was right to collect money for it.”
Mike hiked the Grand Canyon more than once in his life, going all the way down to the bottom and back out.
Shortly after beginning his career as an oral surgeon, he was working along side fellow surgeon Daniel Kleehammer when Dr. Kleehammer suffered a heart attack. Mike performed CPR and resuscitated him while the paramedics were in route.
When Kelley was studying abroad in Italy, before e-mail was easily accessible, Mike sent a fax to the hotel where she lived nearly every day of the 3 months she was gone just to have some contact with her and to make her feel loved from afar.
Mike and Nancy shared a serious love for the game of tennis. They both played often for many years and passed the love of the game down to Kelley. Mike and Nancy took many “tennis trips” with friends over the years, which included playing, but also traveling to see professional tournaments too. In their later years when they could no longer play, they often spent time together watching the game on television. They especially loved making an event of “Breakfast at Wimbeldon” from the comfort of their home.
Just a few years ago, after his mother and sister, Kathy were involved in a serious car accident on the move down to Florida, Mike, despite his own struggles with Parkinson’s Disease, dropped everything to be by their side and help them through that difficult time.
Mike dreamed of one day seeing his grandson, Sam play baseball. In his final days, we brought a T-ball stand into the condo and had Sam hit a few balls for his Poppy.
Mike loved his first grandchild, Molly so much. His nickname for her was “The Moll Doll.” He once spent hours building a snowman for 1-year-old Molly. Despite the fact that at her age, she didn’t know what a snowman was, the joy on his face and the excitement in his eyes to show her demonstrates exactly what type of person he was.
We ask that you hold these, and your own memories of Mike in your heart.
Speak of him often and live as he did.
That is the best way to keep him alive and with us forever.
Copy of Kelley’s Eulogy
Mike’s “Dash”
Introduction
How lucky I am – How lucky we all are – to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.
Thank you all for being here today to honor my dad, my hero, arguably the best person I will ever know.
It is with much gratitude but very little surprise, that so many of you have come to pay tribute, to honor, to grieve for such a wonderful man who without ever asking for anything in return, subtly, humbly, sweetly made his mark on this world and on all of us during his all too short 66 years of life on Earth.
My dad felt strongly about not only honoring and grieving a person after they are gone but providing a good picture of who they were in life. He felt all too often a eulogy seemed to fall short of expressing who that person was, what they accomplished during their time, and what the sort of “theme” of their life was. What did they stand for? What were their convictions? In the end, what was at the core of who they were?
In the few opportunities in which I witnessed him eulogize his loved ones, he made sure to do his best to accurately portray them. I saw him spend hours writing the memorials he was to deliver, knowing he was given the awesome responsibility of painting a picture of who they were in their heart, and he did not take this job lightly.
Each eulogy started by reading the poem, “The Dash,” which I will read now.
‘The Dash' by Linda Ellis
I read of a man who stood to speak at the funeral of a friend. He referred to the dates on his casket from beginning to the end. He noted that first came the date of his birth and spoke of the following date with tears, but he said what mattered most of all was the dash between those years. For that dash represents all the time that he spent alive on earth and now only those who loved him know what that little line is worth.
For it matters not, how much we own, the cars, the house, the cash,
What matters is how we live and love and how we spend our dash.
So think about this long and hard; Are there things you would like to change?
For you never know how much time is left that can still be rearranged.
If we could just slow down enough to consider what is true and real
and always try to understand the way other people feel.
And be less quick to anger and show appreciation more
and love the people in our lives like we have never loved before.
If we treat each other with respect and more often wear a smile,
Remembering that this special dash might only last a little while.
So when your eulogy is being read with your life’s actions to rehash…
Would you be proud of the things they say about how you spent your dash?
Mike’s Dash
And now, I will tell you a little about Mike Olivotto’s Dash. Of course I could simply list the bullet points of his life, where he went to school, what his hobbies were, what he did for a living. But to me, and I’m sure, to many of you, those facts do not even begin to scratch the surface of what made him who he was in his heart, in his spirit, in his gentle kindness that makes it so difficult for us to say goodbye.
Childhood
From day one of my dad’s life, family was of utmost importance. He was born to father, Frank and mother, Antonette and had one older brother, Donald and one younger sister, Kathy. Dad often spoke of his childhood as an idyllic time. In hearing him reminisce, you may have thought his family was wealthy – and they were – but not monetarily. The five family members lived in a small, one bathroom house in Highland without much money at all. In dad’s recollection, he didn’t want for anything, despite having very little material possessions.
My grandfather was a very handy guy, but mainly out of necessity due to lack of money. My dad would help him with projects around the house and his dad would say, “Michael, when you grow up make sure you study hard, get a good education and make a good living so you can pay someone else to do this stuff.” So, off dad went to make something of himself, and make something of himself he did.
Career
He became a skilled and highly respected Oral Surgeon. In college, I spent 2 summers working at my dad’s office, and I saw and thoroughly enjoyed watching him practice, interacting with both patients and staff in a calm, cool and collected manner. As his former partner Paul Wolf said, “He treated people right and ran the office with evenhanded authority. And he was always respected without having to demand it. He was sage and could make you laugh with his wisdom. He could empathize without being judgmental. He would never abide unfairness, so he was one of the most trustworthy people I have known. He was a strong man who never tried to intimidate. He was a role model.”
Marriage
So, that’s the essence of who he was professionally but career was never my dad’s main priority.
He married the love of his life, Nancy Kelley, and they remained married for nearly 40 years at the time of his death. Dad recently shared with me that when he saw my mom, he couldn’t believe how beautiful she was. He had found his soulmate. He said she was not only beautiful but kind, sweet, family-oriented and loved children, which made him very happy. They had many good times over the years sharing a love for travel, tennis, friends and family. As my mom described it, “They had a quiet kind of love that didn’t need to be flashy.” They simply enjoyed being together. From time to time, Dad would make grand gestures like the time he surprised mom with a limo ride into Chicago on their 25th wedding anniversary, presented her with a ring, and asked her to spend 25 more years with him. Mostly though, dad just had a loving way about him on a daily basis that showed he simply wanted to make her happy and provide for her and our family as best as he could.
When they married on May 22, 1976, they couldn’t know how much their love would be tested in their later years. It began when mom was diagnosed with MS in the late 90s. Dad cared for her and supported her through that difficult diagnosis and the ensuing years. No one could have predicted that less than 10 years later, it would be Mom’s turn to support him when another devastating diagnosis came their way. This time, it was dad and Parkinson’s Disease. Mom, even despite her own struggles, stepped up and held dad’s hand while he gradually began to lose his mobility and the many other things that the unfortunate disease robbed him of. And then came the cancer diagnosis which challenged their love for each other yet again. Mom and dad once again proved, however, that they would be there for each other, “for better or for worse, in sickness and in health and until death do they part.”
Fatherhood
Aside from being a wonderful husband, dad cherished his role as a father almost more than life itself. He said he never could have imagined or been prepared for the love he had for me, his only child, from the moment he held me. As he described it, I buried my way into his heart in a way he never even knew was possible. Over the years, he demonstrated such patience, pride, joy, support, guidance, and simply unconditional love for me. I could stand here for days describing the memories I have of the ways he showed his love but a few come to the forefront of my mind.
- The hours he spent relearning high school math and then tutoring me after he had spent a full day at work.
- The way he looked at me the day I graduated from college. You would have thought I won the Nobel Peace Prize based on the pride he had that day.
- The many, many runs and races we ran together in which he pushed me to see once again that hard work and perseverance are essential to success.
My dad had a strong need to provide and protect me from the injustice of the world but at the same time hold my hand and help guide me into the inevitable – the leaving of the nest and moving onto my own life. It made him incredibly proud but also terribly sad to see his little girl build a life of her own. He knew it was the way it should be but his heart hurt for the loss of our special bond. Despite his fear and mine, our relationship only got better as I went out on my own.
End of Life
In these past few years, despite knowing that the prognosis of the cancer was not great, dad stood strong, was willing to fight, was able to maintain a sense of humor, a graciousness, and a determination that I will carry with me to my own dying day.
He greeted nurses and doctors with a smile on his face regardless of how his body felt. He thanked them for each an every task from taking his temperature to helping him walk through the hospital halls. He kept his quick-wit with him throughout as demonstrated during his most recent hospitalization only a few weeks ago. He had come back from having an ultrasound on his liver and when I asked him how it went he said, “Great! I think I’m having a girl!” J He appreciated with genuine sincerity any piece of good news and hope we received throughout the journey and never ever gave up hope even when the rest of us suspected there was none left. He gave it everything he had even in his final weeks, taking short walks, even lifting small hand weights in the hope that he could be strong enough to take on another round of chemo in order to get more time. He did this all with not only cancer but with Parkinson’s also lurking around, making his fight all the more challenging. His will to live despite all odds was extremely strong and truly admirable.
Being a man of great faith, Dad even gave US, his loved ones, comfort by saying things like, “If Jesus could die on the Cross, I can get through this.”
Final Words
As an only child, it was often not easy to go through tough times without siblings to lean on, particularly my dad’s illnesses, however I have to say, I’m pretty lucky that God chose me to be the one and only person who got to call Mike Olivotto “dad.” I wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.
When I got married 10 years ago, Dad gave a world-class father of the bride toast. Many of you were present that day, and will recall that there wasn’t a dry eye in the ballroom. In that speech, he said that if he could be granted one wish, it would have been to turn back the clock and be my dad all over again. Dad, I have to say, that standing here today, that would be my one wish too.
I regret that my dad didn’t get the chance for more time on this Earth to love and enjoy his family and friends, to wake up with the sunrise on peaceful mornings on the lake with a fishing pole, time to simply enjoy the retirement he worked so hard for and bask in his golden years without his body being beaten down with disease and discomfort.
Despite these regrets though, it is comforting to know that Dad felt he had a good life and said he accomplished everything he wanted to. His only true sadness was too little time as a Poppy to his grandchildren, Molly and Sam. He wanted to see them grow up. I have assured him, however, and will make it a mission in my life, to make sure they know what an amazing person their Poppy was and how much he loved them.
A few days before my dad passed, he was in and out of consciousness. He was still able to communicate but his voice became a whisper due to weakness. This may sound too unbelievable to be true but I am here to tell you that the last thing he managed to mouth to me, which I will never forget was “I’m so proud of you.” Dad, I couldn’t be prouder of you either. For the person you were, for the way you lived your life, and even in the way you handled your death.
In closing, I want recall the fact that my dad ran the 2000 Chicago Marathon. Some of you may not know that I met him at mile 21 and ran beside him through the last five miles of the race. I saw him cross the finish line and see the utter pride, joy and relief he had that he had accomplished such an amazing feat. I feel compelled to draw the parallel now that in many ways during the past year and a half, I watched him and helped guide him through the final miles in the marathon of his life just as I did that October day 15 years ago. As heartbreaking as it was at times to witness his pain, I was blessed and honored to be able to do it. And I will never forget the moment I was to see him cross the finish line of this life and move on to his eternal life in Heaven.
“I have fought the Good fight. I have finished my course. I have kept the faith.”
Dad, you have run one hell of a race. Now you can rest with God. We will be with you again and we will always love you.