The NICU and other teams mourn the passing of Carmelo Rodriguez, an equipment technician whose joyful spirit represented the best of Riley.
By Maureen Gilmer, Riley Children’s Health senior writer, mgilmer1@iuhealth.org
There are not enough tissues in the small conference room on Riley Hospital for Children’s fourth floor.
One by one, people step inside the room to share their memories of a kind, gentle and joyful man, each grabbing a tissue to wipe away tears as they talk about Carmelo Rodriguez, who passed away suddenly Feb. 24 after dealing with a heart condition for several years. He was 59.
“He was the heart of our unit,” said Stacia Nickell, a veteran nurse leader on the neonatal intensive care unit who hired Rodriguez as an equipment technician 16 years ago. “Losing him was like losing a piece of our heart.”
“He was a father figure and a mentor to me,” said Alfredo “Freddy” Saucedo, who worked alongside Rodriguez for six years. “He taught me patience and how to do things the right way. He taught me to be there for others. He was always there for me.”
Indeed, he was there for everyone in his life, agreed Caryn Sundling, a NICU nurse who knew him for more than a dozen years.
“There are not enough words for Carmelo,” she said. “He was all the positive things – kind, considerate, reliable, beyond helpful, just a perfect person. He was wonderful to everyone.”
Amy Bales, manager of clinical operations for the NICU, was already crying when the first words came out of her mouth in that conference room last week. There was just one tissue left.
“I’ll never forget our last conversation. He was talking about his health, but chuckling – he was always laughing – telling me, ‘I’m going to keep going, Amy. I’m always here. I’m not tired. This keeps me going. I love my job.’”
Rodriguez frequently stopped by Bales’ office near the end of the day, just to say hi and sometimes empty the trash even if it wasn’t part of his job. Those visits often were the highlight of her day.
“I never met anyone who took more pride in their job,” she said. “He was so appreciative of everything this unit did for him, and he would always tell you that.”
But it was what he did for the unit and everyone in his orbit that people will remember. He was the kind of person who makes you want to be a better person.
“You just had to know him to feel all the feels,” Bales said.
Olivia Rodriguez, Carmelo’s wife for 29 years and a longtime secretary on the NICU, knew him better than anyone. He made her laugh, he fixed her coffee at 5 every morning, he drove her to work.
And sometimes he drove her a little crazy – with his love for the Dallas Cowboys, his obsession with toy collector cars (real ones, too), his zeal for hats and holidays (her garage is crammed with decorations for every celebration) and his ability to talk to everyone, while also outworking most.
“He was my friend, my crazy man,” she said. “He was always happy, and he kept me happy.”
Born in Mexico, her husband had 10 siblings and countless nieces and nephews, whom he showered with gifts and love. One of his nieces, Alicia Rodriguez Acosta, also works as a secretary in the NICU.
“A man of vibrant spirit, Carmelo had a passion for dancing, particularly to the rhythms of Mexican music. He was a gifted storyteller, captivating listeners with his tales and experiences,” read his obituary.
His funeral services, held last month in Speedway, attracted scores of Riley team members, according to Nickell, who stayed from beginning to end.
“There were probably 200 people from Riley at the service,” she said. “That speaks volumes about him.”
People came from supply chain, environmental services, the operating room and the NICU, all with stories to share about his impact on them.
And no doubt he would have known all their names, Nickell said, just like he knew the names of all 200-plus people who work in the NICU. He had a gift for connecting with people. And they were richer for it.
“Anyone who worked with him could tell you he never had a bad day,” she added. “He loved this place. He wanted to be here.”
Now that he is gone, the hallways of Riley are a little quieter. His laughter no longer rings out, but it still sings in the hearts and memories of his friends, his family and his team.
Olivia Rodriguez said she returned to work earlier than she needed to because she feels closest to her late husband at Riley. Sitting in the same little conference room where she often shared lunch with him, looking at a memory book that the NICU made for her, feeling their support – it is comforting.
She still has lunch in this room, offering a quiet prayer for the man who captured her heart 29 years ago.
“It feels like he is still here,” she said. “For me, it’s like he’s on vacation, like he hasn’t really gone. I’m just waiting for him.”
Photos submitted and by Mike Dickbernd, IU Health visual journalist, mdickbernd@iuhealth.org