4 Sons On Father Lost To Coronavirus: 'Home Won't Be The Same'

EAST MORICHES, NY — Four sons have joined hearts and voices to pay tribute to their father, a respiratory therapist who delayed retirement to help fight the coronavirus battle — only to later lose his life to COVID-19.

Their words and memories are a veritable love letter, speaking to the deep bonds he forged with all four — and with their mother, whom he cared for with infinite tenderness after she was diagnosed with dementia.

According to his obituary, Theodore "Ted" Louis Nilsson, who died on March 6 at 66, was born in Queens and grew up in Farmingdale; graduated from St. John's University in 1977 and studied to become a respiratory therapist at Stony Brook University. He met the love of his life Janine while both were working at Southside Hospital; they were married in 1984. Nilsson became the director of respiratory care at Mather Hospital in 2002, a position he held until his retirement in 2020.

His legacy lives on in his four boys, Teddy, Christian, Jared and Luke — and in an outpouring of love the young men came together to paint a picture of a man whose life will live on forever in the memories they share.

Speaking of his father, Christian said his grandfather, who they called "Pops" was a proud member of the Fire Department of New York. "My dad wasn't able to be in the hospital room when his dad died and it always weighed on him. It was the only topic that made him emotional to talk about. I think that's why it was so important to me and my three brothers that we were able to be in the room when my dad passed away on March 6," he said.

His parents lived first in Middle Island, then moved to East Moriches, where the family home is still located.

And, when their mother was diagnosed with dementia, Nilsson was often seen walking with his wife in Westhampton Beach, holding her arm gently — a constant and loving support as she navigated the sea of unknowns.

Christian's story

Christian described his father: "As a kid, he was enormous. He was 6'2 and over 200 lbs., so when we were children — he towered over us. But despite having such a powerful presence, he was always the kindest and most patient person you'd ever meet. If we were ever playing a sport, he was in the stands. If we were in a play, he was in one of the first few rows. If we had to move apartments, he was driving the moving van."

While Christian said it was hard to pinpoint one specific memory that captured his father's essence, he remembered a moment when he first began to explore filmmaking, which became his passion. "My dad helped me find the best camcorder, though my mom and dad told me I would have to pay for it myself. I saved up all year to be able to pay for it —I mowed neighbors' lawns, raked leaves, held a yard sale. Eventually, I had the $650 I needed. But when I got to the register at Circuit City in Holbrook, I failed to calculate tax; I was only 13. I was devastated. I was $57 dollars short. But then my dad told me to count the money again — and suddenly I had an extra $57 in the envelope. My dad gave me a look as if to say, 'Don't tell Mom.'"

He added: "That may sound like a small, silly story but it embodies the kind of support he always showed to me and my brothers."

"Home won't be the same without you"

When he was 23 — 10 years after Circuit City — Christian and his father drove cross country together when he moved to Los Angeles. "After the weeklong trek, I drove him to LAX for his flight back home. On the way there, he expressed how proud he was of me. . . As he stepped out of the car at LAX, he hugged me and added: 'But home won't be the same without you.' In the moments before he passed, I whispered the same sentiment into his ear: 'Home won't be the same without you.'"

Across the board, those remembering his father, Christian said, echoed similar words: "Patient and kind. It's inspired a new motto in my family: 'Live like Ted.'"

Describing his father's battle with the coronavirus, Christian said at his position at Mather, where he'd worked for nearly 35 years, he'd accrued months and months of time off, so he had planned on getting minor surgery on his wrists in November, 2019 and then use his time off to "run out the clock "until he could retire in May, 2020.

"But when COVID hit he knew that he couldn't abandon his staff," Christian said.

His father was the chairman of the Long Island Respiratory Care Managers Association "and the person who helped write the hospital's policies on these specific situations — he knew he had to be the one who helped implement them. So he went back to work," Christian said.

He added: "In May, he told leadership in the hospital he'd like to stay on, but they told him he'd done enough. As a final act of service, on his last day — my dad donated blood."

Then, Christian said, his father updated his LinkedIn to say his new position was "retired" and listed the location as "home".

"They looked like death. It was terrifying."

Both his parents, Christian said, were diagnosed with COVID-19 in January. "By the middle of the month, it was clear they were in a bad way. They looked like death. It was terrifying."

He and his brothers Jaren and Luke — Teddy lives out of state — brought them to Southside Hospital in Bay Shore, but they were transferred to Mather; ironically, where they'd first met.

"Dad recovered quickly, but my mother's progress was far slower. He was discharged at the start of February and my mother stayed for a few more weeks before being transferred to a rehabilitation facility," Christian said.

He and his brothers rotated care of their father. "For a moment, it looked like he was making slow progress — but it was clear COVID had significantly damaged his lungs. Despite being on oxygen, his oxygen levels plummeted anytime he stood up. He wound up catching pneumonia. A few weeks after coming back home, we rushed him back to the hospital."

For all four sons, their father's illness was a shock, especially because it was their mother who they'd been worried about for years.

"It was a strange position for us to be in. For the past eight years, we've slowly been losing my mom to dementia. My dad was the caregiver. But suddenly, it was our dad who was ill, and we were the caregivers," Christian said.

Throughout his stay at Mather, his sons were able to see him via a tablet in his room.

His father's second hospital stay was far more difficult, he said. "He didn't have the strength to talk so instead we'd talk to him. A week or so into his stay, it was clear stronger measures would need to be taken. Dad knew he was in bad shape, so he told the staff he needed to be intubated and put into a medically induced coma on a ventilator. We all jumped on a call just beforehand on an iPad and we told him we'd see him soon."

All the sons agreed that in many ways, they were blessed. "When he passed, he was surrounded by his family, and behind us in the hallway stood his former colleagues — his work family. Of course, there is no great way to say goodbye to someone you love, but in the age of COVID, my dad received the best send-off possible," Christian said.

The fact that their father chose to continue working during the pandemic made a lifelong impression on all four sons.

"My mom and dad have always loved lighthouses. As my older brother pointed out to me, lighthouses exist solely to serve the community — to keep people safe and away from harm. In that way, my parents are lighthouses all their own. I'm not surprised my dad decided to go back into the hospital and I'm not shocked to hear he was willing to postpone his retirement to do more. That was his nature — to help and to serve," Christian said.

His father, not one for words, was more of a listener, Christian said. "For many of our friends, he was someone who actively listened without judgment and accepted everyone. And if he could help you in any way, he'd be the first to offer it. He offered stability and safety for people who sought that in their own lives."

Perhaps the greatest testament to their father's inner character and heart, all agreed, was the love with which he cared for their mother.

"My mother has a form of dementia that is far rougher on the caregivers than the patient," Christian said. "The doctors told us this nearly seven years ago when she was first diagnosed, and we could all see its effect on my dad. He aged 10 years in the last three. It affects every part of your day, but you wouldn't know it if you spoke with my dad— he would barely mention it. However, we could see its toll."

He added: "He had become something of a translator for her. Her only words at this point are 'I love you.' But my dad always seemed to know what each variation would mean. 'I love you,' she'd say. 'Oh, you want me to make you some tea?' he'd say back. 'I love you, I love you.' And then she'd smile as he handed her a fresh cup of tea."

In February, Christian asked him: "'Is it nice that Mom is being cared for in a rehab center and that you get to have some time to yourself?'' he said. "And he looked at me as if I said something crazy. 'Your mom is my buddy,'" he said. "'We sit on the couch and hold hands and she tells me she loves me a thousand times a day. No, I don't like her not being here one bit.'"

Christian said the hardest part of his father's second hospital stay was that he was afraid he'd never see their mom again. "But in the week before he passed, we were able to bring her to him. Yes, he was still intubated, but she was there —holding his hand and telling him she loved him."

Luke's story

Luke Nilsson also shared heartfelt memories of his father. "My dad was always present. He rarely would raise his voice but my brothers and I would always risk it when we'd fill a cup of milk to the brim only for it to paint the floor and walls seconds later. 'You gotta pay attention' was the tagline."

He added: "My love for The Beatles and rock-n-roll stems directly back to him. He'd always bring up how 'Penny Lane' was his favorite song because of the piccolo trumpet part. He lived for it."

Luke said as a child, he was always sitting on his father's lap. "Looking through photos these past few weeks you could see how much love there was in our childhood. My dad would work days and mom worked nights so that they could raise us. We'd spend maybe an hour with a babysitter."

Asked to describe his father Luke said: "Polite. Reserved. Honorable. Just a good dude."

Luke was also diagnosed with got COVID during the first week of 2021, the same time his parents tested positive. "We followed the rules. Did the right thing. But from someone my dad never met and who was careless, it spread through three different families before it got to our house. I was home from California for the holidays so I was taking care of my parents. The first week we all were just really tired. Nothing crazy. But as I got better they both took a turn."

At Mather, his parents stayed in the same room together for a week, during the time his father celebrated his 66th birthday.

After returning home his father had "long hauler" symptoms but was doing fine — but soon began to struggle, needing additional oxygen, Luke said. "We enjoyed the Super Bowl together and the next morning it was clear he was in bad shape. He had the most faith in Mather Hospital and didn't want to take an ambulance somewhere else. My brother Jared and I, along with local firefighters, came and we picked him up and put him in the car, where I drove him to Mather. On the way, he said he felt like he was 'dying.'"

Luke held his father's hand during the 40-minute drive. "When we got to Mather a security guard who knew my dad well saw him and said, 'Ted! What are you doing here? You're supposed to be retired!'"

When he wheeled his father inside, Luke said there was no sense of panic. "It seemed like he'd just gotten a bad cause of pneumonia and that his friends at Mather would sort it out. I gave my dad a hug goodbye and said I'd see him later," he said.

Then the nightmare began. "His condition was stable at first but slowly got worse, making it difficult to talk on the phone or FaceTime," Luke said. "You could start to sense the panic in him. Here's a guy who's been in the medical field for 40-plus years. He knows what all the numbers on all the screens mean. I think he knew early on this was different. My dad, who was always calm, cool, and collected started to turn anxious."

When the moment came for his father to be put on a ventilator, Luke said he and the rest of his family were all FaceTiming with him. "He was asleep from the pure exhaustion of trying to breathe as we said, 'We'll see you later, Dad!' I think he was awake then. I don't think he had it in him to say goodbye to his four sons. His whole life he was so, so proud of us. He loved us. I can't blame him for not being able to say goodbye. I don't think it was any easier not to."

His father, Luke said, always did what was right, and continued working during the pandemic even though he'd faced health issues even before COVID-19.

But he carried on, Luke said. "He was dedicated to the service of others. He viewed his patients as someone else's son or daughter. Our lives were shaped by my parents' work."

When asked about words of advice from his father, Luke said: "Be a good person. Be a good friend. Sibling. Lover. Be kind."

"He loved Janine and he loved his sons. That was what he was most proud of"

Of his parents, Luke said: "They were so blessed. He loved my mom. It's so clear in every photo. Every card. He loved Janine and he loved his sons. That was what he most proud of. He would grab her hand and call her 'honey'. One morning he didn't know I had off from work. I heard him hug my mom before work. He said while giving her a tight squeeze, 'Oh, I love you, honey. I miss you. I miss your hugs.' Gave her a kiss and went to work. Even now I get teary-eyed thinking of it."

While Luke said his parents weren't perfect, no one is, they always showed love and respect. "They could always come back and see the house we live in. The sons they raised. There was always a beautiful energy in my house. Friends who would come over would always make a note of it. To friends old and new, my home felt like home to them."

His parents taught his sons to be patient, be kind. "It's just as easy to be nice as to be cruel," Luke said.

If he could say one last thing to his father, Luke said, it would be: "Just thank you. Thanks for always supporting me and my brothers. You were always in the crowd cheering us on. Driving us every which way after a 12-hour shift. Looking back on my life I've experienced so much love and support. Going to college and into the world, I realized what a rare thing that is for a lot of people. He raised his sons well and he's given us all that we need. Here's to you."

At his father's services, Luke said he and his brothers "threw away the usual cookie-cutter wake/funeral format. Where people who don't know your loved one speak about them. My brothers and I all took a role. Christian MC'd, Jared read poems, Teddy did the eulogy, and I played music —' Murder in the City,' by the Avett Brothers and 'Penny Lane', by the Beatles."

Perhaps most heartbreaking, Luke said: "With the passing of my dad we feel we've also lost more of my mom. A lot of memories and intimate stories are gone. So in some ways, I feel like it's just the four of us now. Thrown into this new world scared, but prepared. With all that they taught us I think we'll do just fine. We just have to 'pay attention.'"

Jared's story

Jared Nilsson said his dad meant the world to his family. "We are all very heartbroken over his passing. He was a great man that deserved to go out a better way."

Jared also wanted to express his family's gratitude for the doctors, nurses, respiratory therapists and all the other staff at Mather Hospital that took care of their father, sat with him, held his hand, and comforted him while they were not allowed to visit him. "He was just as much a part of their family as he was ours," he said.

Reflecting on his childhood, Jared said: "My dad was a great father growing up. Raising four boys must not have been easy at all but he and my mom managed to do a great job. He loved being our dad, there is no doubt about that."

Some memories that are forever etched on his heart, Jared said, included his dad making the boys' lunches. "It was a routine. Every night he would lay out the cold cuts, cheeses, sliced rolls, make our sandwiches. Pack them into a brown bag with some snacks and a drink, then write our first initial on the bag in a black Sharpie. I could tell he was a little upset when he was too busy to pack them but that was very rare."

In addition, Jared said he and his father tried to go to at least one Mets game every year. "It became a tradition that when I became an adult, I would buy him tickets every Father' Day for the two of us."

His father, Jared said, was kind, respectful, loving, hard-working — quiet but funny. "My dad was the most supportive person in our lives. He was always there at our baseball, soccer and football games, track meets, plays and musicals, concerts, from elementary school to college. I can still hear his voice in my head yelling, 'Go Jared, go, go, go!" as I approached the finish line at every track meet."

The last race of his high school career was scheduled for a day when his father was at a respiratory conference in Florida — and the race was in Buffalo, NY, Jared said. "He left the conference early and flew up to Buffalo to watch me run a 15-second race. I false started for the first time ever and was not allowed to race. I felt so bad that he'd traveled all that way. I was so disappointed but he was so proud. Proud of how I handled myself; that during a heartbreaking experience, I kept my head up high. When I came home he'd left a card on my dresser saying just that."

Jared described his parents' coronavirus struggle: "The battle with COVID was certainly a roller coaster." He said he will be forever grateful that his parents were in the same room, because "they were able to spend his last birthday together."

Jared said the loss is unthinkable: "My dad and I spoke every day on the phone and that was and still is the hardest part for me, not being able to speak to my dad."

His father, Jared said, was also blessed with his third grandchild last September, who he loved
and adored. "It breaks my heart knowing that she will never remember how amazing he was. I lost my grandfather when I was three and I have no memories of him, but my dad kept him alive through his stories and his memories. I now find myself in the same situation of having to keep my dad alive through my memories and stories of him."

Describing his father, Jared said: "Dad was most definitely a hero. Not just during the pandemic but during his career. He was a brilliant respiratory therapist. He saved countless lives throughout his career as a therapist and created policies and helped buy equipment to continue save lives as director of respiratory at Mather Hospital. He also donated blood multiple times a year. At the wake, a coworker from the 80s came up to me and told me how great he was at his job. She said 'When Ted walked in the room, you knew everything was going to be okay.'"

"Dad was most definitely a hero"

Their father was a role model to many, all his sons agreed. "My dad was a respectful
person and treated everyone like a human, no matter who you were," Jared said.

Of his father's dedication to their mother, Jared said: "They were married almost 37 years and he kept the promise he made in his vows." He added that his parents' love story taught them about love, respect, patience, and support.

"Dad showed us all how to be great husbands through his words and actions," Jared said. "Thank you, thank you for always being there for me. Thank you for your endless support. Thank you for being the greatest father and role model I could ever have."

Teddy's story

Teddy Nilsson described his father as "the quiet man" who never raised his voice — unless they spilt the infamous milk.

He was someone that wanted to spend as much time as he could with his kids, taking them to Mets games, to New York City to see the tree, to Disney World, and to Montauk for a week every summer. He was at every school show and game, Teddy said. "I don't remember him missing anything," he said.

His father, Teddy said, taught him to write a scorecard at baseball games and was a master navigator better than any GPS. His Lionel trains were a fixture for the boys' childhood Christmases.

"He was selfless as a dad, as a respiratory therapist — and as a husband to my mom," Teddy said.

Living 300 miles away the distance was difficult when his father got sick, but Teddy said he would use the iPad in his room to talk to his father and "read bedtime stories with my kids," so his father could see them all.

"He's almost that soldier that gets shot right before the end of a war"

In some ways, Teddy said, he wonders if his father hadn't retired, he might have been able to get a vaccination more quickly — one that might have saved his life. "He's almost that soldier that gets shot right before the end of a war," he said.

His father taught him that honesty is the best policy and that while he was quiet, "he spoke a lot through actions." His father taught by example, through the dedication he had to his kids, his wife, as she was getting sick, and to his grandchildren,Teddy said.

And he taught his boys the meaning of love and family, Teddy said. "He showed us that marriage means sticking with each other through thick and thin," he said." Knowing you have a family to take care of — and having them be the driving force. My dad got me a birthday card and he wrote, 'Cherish your family.'"

Donations in Ted Nilsson's name can be made to Camp Pa-Qua-Tuck, located at 2 Chet Swezey Rd, Center Moriches, NY 11934.