The Men We Celebrate…

The Men We Celebrate

I was born a daddy's girl.

I followed my dad around like a puppy.

I believed everything he said.

I thought he hung the moon.

As I've gotten older, I've learned that life is rarely black and white. The people we love most are often beautifully complicated. My father certainly was.

My dad struggled with alcoholism. He carried wounds and burdens that he never fully healed. Our relationship wasn't always easy. There were seasons of chaos, disappointment, and hurt.

But Father's Day has taught me something important.

People can be imperfect and still leave incredible gifts behind.

When I look at myself today, so much of what I love about who I am came directly from him.

My work ethic.

My ability to walk into a room and make friends.

My energy.

My sense of humor.

My larger-than-life personality.

My willingness to take risks.

Those were gifts from my father.

He left this earthly world a while ago, and I often joke that he's become a much better-behaved angel than he ever was as a human.

These days, when Father's Day comes around, there is another man I celebrate.

My godfather.

Uncle Dan.

Dan was one of my dad's best friends.

They met in college.

They stood up in each other's weddings.

They shared decades of friendship.

And through all those years, Dan became a constant presence in my life.

Where my relationship with my father could sometimes feel unpredictable, Dan was steady.

Stable.

Loving.

Dependable.

He showed up.

Again and again.

Without fanfare.

Without expectation.

Just because that's who he is.

When I was younger, I babysat his daughter.

As I got older, our relationship evolved into something deeper.

Today, not only is he my godfather, but he has become one of the most important people helping shape the future of The Lyday Center.

At 85 years old, Dan is the architect behind our next chapter.

He is helping design our future healing center.

He is helping us create mold-safe housing for patients.

He is helping bring a vision to life that will impact people long after all of us are gone.

And because of that, I have no intention of letting him go anywhere anytime soon.

You see, over the past several years Dan developed pulmonary fibrosis.

In conventional medicine, it is often labeled "idiopathic."

A fancy word that means:

"We don't know why."

Many of you know how I feel about that word.

I believe there is always a reason.

The body is always telling a story.

Our job is to listen.

So this week, Dan came to Wisconsin.

Not just as my godfather.

Not just as the architect.

But as a patient.

The moment he arrived, we got to work.

We started by nourishing the terrain.

NAD.

Magnesium.

B vitamins.

Phosphatidylcholine.

Glutathione.

Supporting his cells.

Supporting his mitochondria.

Supporting his veins.

The last time he visited, his vascular system wasn't strong enough to tolerate apheresis.

So for the past two weeks, we had been quietly preparing.

Building.

Strengthening.

Getting his body ready.

Then came the moment of truth.

Apheresis.

HBOT.

Stem cells.

Nebulized exosomes.

A complete reset strategy designed to reduce inflammation and support regeneration from the inside out.

And do you know what happened?

He crushed it.

Both days.

Long treatments.

Long hours.

And at the end of each day?

He still wanted to go out to dinner.

In fact, I think he had more energy than Gio and I did.

At 85.

That's the kind of stubbornness I can appreciate.

Ideally, if he lived nearby, I would have him doing nebulized exosomes daily for five days.

Monthly apheresis.

Additional stem cell support.

Regular monitoring.

But life isn't always ideal.

Dan lives in Chicago.

He's 85.

So we adapt.

We meet the body where it is.

We support it as intelligently as possible.

And then we keep moving forward.

Just like Dan always has.

This Father's Day, I'm thinking about all the fathers, grandfathers, godfathers, mentors, and father figures who continue to show up despite their own health challenges.

The men who keep going to work.

Keep supporting their families.

Keep carrying responsibilities.

Even when their bodies are struggling.

To those men:

Your family needs you.

Your wisdom matters.

Your presence matters.

Your stories matter.

Your health matters.

Investing in your health is not selfish.

It is one of the greatest gifts you can give the people who love you.

The strongest thing you can do is decide that you're worth fighting for.

Happy Father's Day to the men who taught us how to work hard.

How to love deeply.

How to laugh loudly.

And how to keep showing up.

Especially when it's hard.

And to Uncle Dan...

Thank you for helping build not only our future healing center, but the lives of everyone who will walk through its doors.

We're not done with you yet.

Love,

Dr. Tami Lyday and Team TLC