They killed my Dad.

Not with a weapon, not with a single blow, but with neglect, abuse, and a system that treated him as less than human. What happened to him was not an accident. It was a pattern‼️ a chain of failures so severe, so repeated, and so preventable that it took his life piece by piece.

My Dad had over nine pressure wounds, including a sacrum wound nearly 31 inches across — a wound so large it should never exist on a human body under professional care. He was not turned, not repositioned, and left to deteriorate until his body contracted so severely that his legs had to be broken just to fit him into his casket. That is not care. That is cruelty.

Before admission and at admission, we made our wishes clear:

No additional medications unless life‑sustaining or discussed with family.
Yet my Dad was given psychosis medications, drugs that were never approved, never justified, and never communicated. These medications can sedate, confuse, and destabilize elders. They were used on him anyway.

A Revolving Door of Hospitalizations
My Dad was sent in and out of the hospital like a business transaction, infection after infection, each one explained away as “unavoidable.” But infections are not unavoidable when a facility has no running water, or water so cold staff could not properly wash their hands. I saw staff move from patient to patient without sanitizing, without gloves, without even pretending to follow infection control.

I heard residents crying out for help, begging for someone to answer their call lights, lights that stayed on for hours, if they worked at all.
My Dad’s call light did not work most times. He had no way to call for help, no way to alert anyone when he was in pain, scared, or in danger.

There were multiple doctors listed on his care team, yet we never met them. Not once. Not a single conversation, not a single moment of care. Their names were on paper, but their presence was nonexistent.

At night or on weekends, reaching the facility was nearly impossible. You were lucky if someone answered the phone. I had to send the police for a wellness check because no one would pick up. That is not care. That is abandonment.

My Dad was often found soiled to the point that his skin tore from his body. Skin breakdown that severe is not “normal aging.” It is abuse. It is neglect. It is the result of hours, sometimes days, without proper hygiene, turning, or cleaning.

My Dad’s death is now under investigation for possible assault and suspicious circumstances. There was no straight answer about what happened to him. Every explanation contradicted the last. Every detail was vague, incomplete, or evasive.

They tried to sweep it under the rug, but the truth refuses to stay buried.

I speak because my Dad deserved better.

I speak because elders across Illinois are suffering in silence.

I speak because families are being lied to, dismissed, and gaslit.

I speak because what happened to my Dad was not isolated, it was systemic.

And I speak because his story must be heard, loudly and without apology.