Fall 2006 – My father showed his lighthearted side by playing in the leaves with us. I recall he kept on raking the pile higher

and higher and we would throw the dogs in the middle of it (it was pre-kids).  He was like a little boy again, full of life and taking

time out of his endless weekend chores to enjoy the  moment with us and stir things up.  I cherish each of these memories of my father.

For all that still receive this blog, I have a  favor to ask to help me in my effort to create a memory book about my father. I am hoping

to capture the essence of my father in words from those who knew him best and one day pass this along to our children, so they know

just how amazing he was.   

So, please share your favorite Mario memory, story, quote, or any reflection of how he touched your life.  You can post it here as a comment or email me directly at

marta.aebischer@teutoniausa.com  

Thank you for your continued support and love.  

Marta & the Acuna Family

We miss you tremendously,  but you continue to live on within us and our children and

remain in our hearts.

I found this poem and wanted to dedicate it to you:

“God’s Garden”

God looked around His garden and He found an empty place.

He then looked down upon this earth and saw your tired face.

He put His arms around you, And lifted your to rest.

God’s garden must be beautiful, He always takes the best. He knew

That you were suffering, he knew you were in pain. He knew that

You would never Get well on earth again.

He saw the road was getting rough and the hills were hard to climb.

So he closed your weary eyelids, and whispered “Peace be Thine”

It broke our hearts to lose you, But you didn’t go alone. For part of

Us went with you the day God called you home.

You left us beautiful memories, Your love is still our guide. And though we cannot

See you, You are always by our side.

Our family chain is broken, And nothing is the same, But as God calls

Us one by one, our Chain will link again.

We love and remember you always,  Your “Martita”

One year ago today, while your pain was ending, ours was just beginning. The world we knew came crashing down and broke into a million pieces, and we have been trying to pick up those pieces ever since. You were everything to us and to me and since you have been gone, words cannot begin to describe my longing to see you again and talk to you again. I know that is impossible now, in this life, but I know it will be possible in the next life. The other day I had a dream about you, that you just walked in the door one day in Bowie, healthy as an ox, and it was like Jesus himself walked in. I fell to my knees and cried tears of joy to see you. Then morning came and I woke up and realized it was just a dream and the tears of joy turned into tears of sorrow. I know you said not be sad for you and to go on living our lives, but I cannot help thinking about you and wondering how you are and if you are proud of me and the life I have created. I hope you are proud and I hope you do watch over me, and Angela and Emily and Reese.

One year ago, I tried to get up in front of our family and friends and say what a great man and father you were to me and to our family, and I do not think I did a very good job. I guess the emotions of the moment got the better of me and I probably came off as more sad than appreciative. Now, that a year has passed and I have had some time to reflect and to heal, I would like to have another chance to do so.

You were the greatest man I have ever known and  the most brilliant person I have ever met. I say that not just because you were my father, but also because of the love and respect I have for you and the life you created for yourself and lived every day of your 68 years. Sometimes I’ll catch myself doing nothing, just wasting another day away and I tell myself, “No, this is not what Dad would have wanted of me. This is not why he sacrificed and worked so hard for, to see me just wasting another moment away.” So, I get up and do something, anything, just like you always did. Your life inspired me while you were alive and continues to inspire me today, one year after your death. You are always, and I do mean always on my mind. I still ask myself, “what would Dad do?” I still have your picture hanging in my cubicle at work, always watching over me and pushing me in the right direction. I still read the blog messages and look at Andrew’s eulogy almost on a monthly basis and I remember you and your life and I think about my legacy and how I would want people to remember me by. I strive to come close to the life you lived and while I may be far off from it now, or may never reach it, I still go forward, learning every day what it means to be a better professional, a better father and husband, and a better friend.

I know you will never be back to see me, other than in my dreams, and my heart breaks because of it. I can’t hug you or talk to you or tell you about my day or what I learned or saw or felt. You can’t hold Reese and see how great she is and you can’t sit with Emily and tell her about the starts and the planets you studied for so long. She asks about you all the time and I truly believes wonders where you are and hopes that you are happy.

A year has passed. Holidays, Birthdays, births, Anniversaries, all have come and gone, and no matter how joyous they might be, there is always a part of me that is thinking of you and I become sad that you are not here to share it with us. At Christmas, you were not in the back room, on the computer, printing pictures or making last minutes Christmas cards for Mom and us. When Reese was born, you were not at the hospital to hold her for the first time and see how beatiful she is. You were the glue that held this family together and now that you are gone, and we are all on our own, so to speak, life just seems that much more hard now.

I miss you, Dad, very much. More than I have missed anyone in my entire life. I wasn’t ready to lose you at such a young age and I still have trouble believing that you are not just at work or at the house in Bowie. When I have a problem, I can’t call you to fix it or tell me how to fix it. When something is wrong with the car, I am at the mercy of a mechanic insetad of on the phone with you trying to figure out what is wrong with it.

I try to be strong, but have come to realize that my life will never be the same now that you are no longer in it. Part of me died right along with you on March 5, 2009, and nothing I do or say could ever revive it.

I miss you terribly, Dad. This year, next year, ten years  from now, I will miss you like I do now.

Until we meet again…

Sincerely,

Your Son,

Dan

• Having you take my picture in front of the tree or the fireplace with the family - or hanging my stocking. An annual tradition!
• Helping you pick out the biggest, fattest REAL Christmas tree we could find.
• Putting my shoes outside of my bedroom door for Santa to fill – then waiting patiently in the middle of the night to hear the distinct sound of a present being placed in them. And yes, I knew it was you.
• Quietly placing my ear to the door to hear you downstairs trying to put together “Requires Assembly” items.
• Trying to wake you and mom up so we could go downstairs - then once downstairs hearing you say “Santa was here!”
• Having you come in my room to tell me that they spotted Santa on the radar. I totally bought it.
• The Atari, Intellivision and the amazing Casio keyboard. Still the best gifts ever.
• Also that car thing you gave us that you had to push. All the other kids had Big Wheels and Cheetahs. We had that car thing.
• Helping you hang the Christmas lights on the outside of the house. Somehow you got every string to work year after year.
• John Denver’s Rocky Mountain Christmas.
• Classical Christmas music softly played through your stereo on Christmas Eve. I still listen to it every year.
• Your practical gifts - extension cords, light bulbs, flashlights, batteries, CDs, DVDs - their usefulness outlasting any other present.
• Your quiet contentment in watching everyone else have fun on Christmas morning.
• Waiting for you to light the Kerosene heater so we wouldn’t freeze in the addition – and of course the smell!
• Your photographic and computer skills. Everyone had a CD full of pictures, a DVD video and color prints to take home less than 1 hour after opening gifts.
• Shopping for that one electronic gadget, gizmo, tool or flashlight that you didn’t already have. It didn’t exist.
• Also shopping for that one brain-teaser or puzzle that you couldn’t solve. Didn’t exist either.
• The call to Argentina on Christmas day. Even though I didn’t speak Spanish you would always make me talk to the relatives – and I’m glad I did.
• Mom always getting you clothes – in the wrong size.
• The velour shirts you loved.
• The secret missions you sent us on to retrieve that big surprise present from the car or van.
• Your complaints about how spoiled we were as kids after getting too many gifts. We were. Thank you for that.
• Your standard response to the question “Dad, what do you want for Christmas this year?”  – Peace. I never understood why you said that. I do now.
• You giving us the ways and means to always have Christmas together as a family.

Most of all dad, the thing I’ll miss the most this Christmas is you. It just won’t be the same. Merry Christmas!

He shot 276 over 4 days in regulation – for an average score of 69
The modern Masters Tournament started in 1940 – 69 years ago
The winner was born on Sep. 12, 1969
He was the lowest ranked golfer ever to win the Masters – his world rank: 69
He was from Argentina – the first Argentine ever to win the Masters
He was from Cordoba

Dad was from Cordoba, Argentina. He would have been 69 years old.

Oh – the golfers name? Angel

We miss you dad!

Mario loved what he did….it wasn’t a “job” but an “adventure”. He would come home from work, eat dinner and retire to his back room where he continued on with this “adventure”. Our family learned a lot about Mario that we weren’t aware of through your reflections on the blog and your wonderful cards.

We will miss him dearly. He was our godfather and the cement that held our family together. He always had time to fix whatever needed repair, to give advice and was always there whenever we needed him for anything. The best gift of all was the college education that he gave to each of his children. He felt very strongly about education and had set up funds to help educate the grandchildren.

I always wanted to retire to Ocean Pines where we had a beach house. But, in the back of my mind, I knew that Mario would never leave Goddard and his career that he loved. However, we were able to spend  many wonderful family weekends there.   Mario designed and loved this house and relaxed and enjoyed himself whenever he was there. One of his favorite things to do was to fill the bird feeders and watch the birds through his binoculars.

The family is trying to get on with their lives…..Mario would have wanted it that way. To all his friends, c0-workers and family I cannot adequately express my feelings, except to say that our family will be forever grateful to each and every one of you for your support, kind words and generosity. Mario will always be our hero and remain forever in our hearts. God bless you ALL……

We want to use this blog to thank all of you for showing such amazing support and love towards our family as we deal with the loss of my father. It truly makes a difference. We have thoroughly enjoyed reading all of your cards/emails, Mario stories on the blog and appreciate the ‘check-in’ phone calls. And we have probably gained 5 lbs each from the delicious meals sent to us. The support is truly appreciated and we thank each of you for reaching out and being there for us.

Everyone says the hard part is still ahead of us as we try to get back to somewhat of a routine in daily life and they are right. Barbara is busy with lots of paperwork and getting the house organized (you should see my Dad’s back room and he saved EVERYTHING!) Andy, James, Marta & Dan have started work again and the grandkids are back to school so that is keeping us all busy. So there is plenty to keep us moving forward but I have to admit we all miss my father dearly and intend on keeping his spirit alive. There is not an hour that passes that we don’t think about him and I hope that never changes.

As a family we plan on having yearly event(s) to raise money for his scholarship fund at Catholic University and stay connected with all of you through this blog. We would like to stay in touch with his co-workers at NASA monitoring the progess of the missions for which he was in the process of building instruments. We plan on going to the JUNO launch in 2011 to honor his contributions to the mission and make sure the grandkids get to experience what we did growing up. There’s nothing like a NASA rocket launch to a 5 year old – that is something you never forget!

We have also kept in touch with our Argentine relatives thanks to SKYPE techonology where we can actually talk face to face over the internet (amazing technology) seeing our many cousins, their children, uncle, aunts, etc.. Dad would be so proud that the Argentine connection remains in tact since he was the primary link in the past. They sent us a great article that was published in the national Argentine paper ‘La Nacion’:

http://www.lanacion.com.ar/nota.asp?nota_id=1107169

Also another article was featured in the Washington Post about his life:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/03/14/AR2009031401703.html

This past Saturday, March 21st was my father’s 69th birthday so say a little prayer to him so we all keep his memory and spirit alive.

Thanks again for everything.

Warmest Regards,
Marta & The Acuña Family

If you look up at the sky at night as my father Mario often did, sometimes you’ll notice stars that aren’t like the others. In a universe full of trillions of stars, some just shine brighter than the rest. They seem to glow – to shimmer – to pull in light from all around them. The largest and brightest of these stars actually die before all of the others – they just burn too fast for the universe to hold them.  In the end they sacrifice all the parts that made them whole so that other stars can be born from their passing.   

My father’s star certainly burned fast and shone bright – a steadfast and tireless worker in every regard, never failing to give his entire measure of devotion to every pursuit. He exemplified what it means to be a husband, father, abuelo, colleague, mentor, friend and hero.  He personified class, integrity, ethicism – with a rare and quiet pride for the myriad contributions he made to humanity itself. His love for science and discovery was surpassed only by the love for his family – and surpassed by a mile. My father used to travel a lot for work, sometimes being gone for weeks at a time. As kids we used to joke that he must have another family somewhere. Throughout his illness we found out he indeed did – and that family is all of you.  Forever willing to help those in need, my father’s selflessness endeared him to countless people – always the repairman, the teacher, the sage, the strong-shouldered hulk to stand on.

How does one give appropriate thanks to the person that gave you life – in every sense of the word? How do you repay such generosity and unconditional love and support? If you had asked me 6 years ago I might not have known the answer – but unknown to me at the time it lie inside of me, hidden and waiting, instilled in me by the man who taught me most everything I know. When my son Nathan was born the question was all at once answered – as natural to me as breathing. My father never wanted to be thanked or repaid. What he wanted from me – and from everyone – was to quietly lead by example as he did – to sacrifice as those that came before him did so that others may get their rightful chance to be great.

What my father never spoke of but in retrospect clearly communicated was a roadmap for raising my children and for appreciating and respecting the honor of having a family to love. The life lessons he imparted should serve as an example to us all. My father’s most important legacy is the education he provided for his children and grandchildren. In the book of Proverbs there is a passage that reads, “a good man leaves an inheritance to his children’s children”. A couple of years ago, in his own quiet and unassuming way as always, my father mentioned to me he had set up a college fund for the grandkids so that they too could experience the value that an education brings – how it pays itself forward forever. What our dad ultimately did for all of us is his greatest gift. It was not providing us the answer to every question – it was giving us the ability to answer those questions ourselves. He taught us that the most important gift you can give someone is to teach them how to learn.

What better homage to pay to my father than to challenge oneself to carry his message forward, to show others that morality, benevolence and respect for your fellow man are not obtuse concepts? He asked a lot of himself and in turn hopes we might ask ourselves the same – not for recognitions sake – but for the simple reason that lending yourself to others in need is always the right thing to do. He will live on through each and every one of us. Do not take that responsibility lightly.

I remember as a child in the summer of 1977 my dad took the family down to Cocoa Beach, Florida for the launch of the Voyager 1 spacecraft for which he helped build the magnetometers. We all watched out over the ocean as the rocket lifted off and began its journey into space. In a sense, we were watching a metaphor for my father’s life and passing – a brilliant and powerful symbol of hard work, dedication, pioneering and imagination ascending into the heavens, quickly leaving our sight but still ever present in our minds and hearts – continuing on its journey silent and unseen, its voyage of discovery shared with all, its influence on the space that it held, the space that it passes, powerfully felt – continuing on, forever.

I ask that you not mourn my father’s passing, but instead celebrate the life that he led. As stoic and serious as he sometimes appeared, within him there lived an inner child that never stopped laughing, playing, looking up at the stars and wondering. He loved to have fun and to experience life. Right now I’m sure he’s showing God his world famous detachable thumb trick or maybe taking in a game of cards, dancing a tango or holding those around him spellbound with enthralling tales of planetary magnetism and space plasmas.

As a scientist, my father’s main job has always been to question, to deal with the empirical – but what should give us all comfort is that which was never in question – his faith in God. He quietly served the Lord and showed us His ways and for that we became closer as a family even in death. We are truly grateful that we could share in his final days together. What an incredible gift given to us by God that our father passed on in comfort and surrounded by those he loved.

He faced his illness and death as he lived his life – a man of strength, integrity, unfailing determination, a fighter to the end; with such an appreciation for the life he was afforded. He told us not to be sad for him and to go on living our lives as he had prepared us to do. “I’ve had my time”, he said. “I’ve done everything I wanted to do. Now it’s your time”.  In his final days when he had lost his capacity for speech and was unresponsive my sister and I were holding vigil over him when he suddenly opened his eyes and raised both hands for us to hold. Struggling to talk he managed the word “frame”.  “You want a frame dad?” I asked. “You mean a picture?” He shook his head yes. “A picture of what?” I inquired.  Pausing to gather the strength he would need to utter the last word he would ever speak on this Earth he turned to me and said, “Family”. A more appropriate last word has never been spoken.

May God bless and keep you dad. We love you.

Arrangements

Visitation
Date: Monday, March 9
Times: 2 – 4 PM, 6 – 9 PM (Memorial Tribute at 8 PM)
Place: Robert E. Evans Funeral Home
16000 Annapolis Rd., Bowie, MD
Phone: 301-464-8836

A Memorial Tribute will be held during the visitation at 8PM at which you can share your thoughts and memories of Mario.

Funeral Mass
Date: Tuesday, March 10
Time: 11 AM
Place: Sacred Heart Catholic Church
16501 Annapolis Rd, Bowie, MD
Phone: 301-262-0704

Repast to be held in Carroll Hall following mass.

Interment
Private

In Lieu of Flowers

Mario H. Acuña Memorial Fund

Contributions may be sent to the Mario H. Acuña Memorial Fund at The Catholic University of America:

The Catholic University of America
620 Michigan Avenue, NE
Aquinas Hall, Room 106
Washington, DC  20064

(Checks should be made payable to The Catholic University of America and should reference the Acuña Fund on the memo line)

Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation

Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation
383 Main Avenue, 5th floor
Norwalk, CT 06851

(Checks should be made payable to “MMRF”)