In Memory of my Father

My father, Dr. Danilo A. Diaz, Sr., passed away on November 6, 2024. At 82 years old, he was still full of life. Just days before his passing, he was dancing joyfully at his grandson’s wedding, surrounded by his family and his loving wife.

He was born in the small town of Bonao, Dominican Republic, the oldest of 23 siblings. At a young age, he moved to the capital, Santo Domingo, to live with his grandparents but he played a significant role in the lives of his siblings, visiting them every weekend to ensure they had food on the table, and their educational needs were being met. My aunt fondly recalled, “He brought life to our refrigerator” as he made sure he provided food and other necessities to his family as soon as he graduated college. He persuaded my grandfather to relocate closer to a high school and later a public university, prioritizing education for his siblings. One of his younger sisters shared how proud she felt when people mistook her for his daughter during summer visits. Many of his siblings lived with him at various points in their lives; he cared deeply for them and continued to look after them until his last days.

Some of my sweetest memories with my father are from our time together at the small farms he served as a veterinarian. He often took my sisters and me to the beach or to visit my grandparents in their small rural town. He was a present and devoted father who made significant sacrifices for us. He knew that immigrating to the USA was the best choice for our family, even though it meant giving up his title of Dr. Diaz and becoming known simply as “Papi,” the owner of a corner store in Philly.

Growing up my father was my hero but after we moved to New York City and then Philadelphia, our relationship changed. During my teenage years, he became stricter, which was confusing for me at the time. We grew distant, and by my early twenties, I missed having a close relationship with him but the older I got I understood his harshness was a form of protection. Living in North Philadelphia, an area plagued by crime and drugs, he wanted me to be tougher, to rise above and not become another statistic.

As we began rebuilding our relationship, he retired and returned to the Dominican Republic. Though it wasn’t what I wanted initially, it was the best decision for him. The quality of life he enjoyed during those 18 years would not have been possible elsewhere. Each year, he became more joyful and fulfilled. He was a source of pride for my sisters and me. He was such a vibrant personality—a great dancer, a selfless friend, an exceptional brother and the best father I could have asked for. He was a loving father who brought immense joy to us. He was cherished by everyone: family, friends, customers, and his beautiful wife. We have countless stories and memories that could fill a book.

He was truly special. The nurse who was in the room when he passed mentioned that the room was filled with peace at the moment of his passing. She shared with me that she felt fortunate to have encountered us at the hospital that day to tell us that. She must have noticed how special he was in the few minutes she knew him.

I am learning to be content. God has been gracious with us, and I know he is in a better place. But I miss him dearly.