Beloved father and husband, devoted public servant, and a gentle soul who spent his life lifting up others — taken from us, years too soon, by the toxic air of September 11th.
A film gathered from a lifetime of moments — the smiles, the milestones, and the quiet everyday love that made him who he was.
The tribute film is being finished with love. It will appear here as soon as it’s ready.
Best viewed with sound. Tap the video to play.
Family and friends are warmly invited to gather, to remember, and to celebrate a life well lived.
In keeping with William’s lifelong spirit of service, the family kindly asks that donations be made in his memory to Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center — the extraordinary team who cared for him — to support leukemia research and the patients still fighting.
Every gift, in his name, helps carry his light forward.
Opens the Memorial Sloan Kettering giving page in a new tab. You may note the gift is in memory of William Anthony Miecuna. Learn more at mskcc.org.
That’s my dad. He waited ten years for me — and he always said my first cry was the greatest sound he ever heard. Dad… hearing your voice tell that story is now one of mine. You spent your whole life giving me the world. So let me take a minute to give something back — and say thank you.
You gave me a childhood I would never trade. You taught me how to use a computer, and how to throw a baseball. You pointed me toward the hobbies I still lean on today — the ones that keep me focused on myself, and on my future.
You took Mom and me everywhere — Lake George, the West Coast, every place that turned into one of our favorite memories. You’d drive for hours just to show me your favorite corners of Long Island. And you taught me the truly essential skills in life: how to cheat at mini golf… how to throw out your back carrying too much firewood… how to make a root beer float explode inside my car… and how to toast salami without burning down the house.
And you never once knew how to quit. Not even open-heart surgery could keep you down — no matter how much anesthesia they gave you, you’d still sneak out of the cardiac unit to order candy to your room. And then go right back to ordering Peeps off the internet.
But more than any of it — you were there. At every graduation, every award ceremony, every baseball game I ever played. You stood beside me through my accomplishments, my struggles, and my failures all the same. You swam with me. You hiked with me. You just… showed up, every single time. I am so fortunate that you were my dad.
You were good to Mom — you always called her the greatest mother in the world, and you were right. And you were good to our dog. You gave him the best four years of his life. Every throw. Every fetch. And every pair of glasses you let him chew to pieces.
You spent your life lifting up the people who needed it most. At HUD, and through Neighborhood Networks, you fought for housing — for the poor, for the homeless, for the people too many others walked right past.
What most people never saw was what it cost you. You worked at 26 Federal Plaza, just steps from Ground Zero — and the same air you breathed doing that work carried the toxins that would one day take you. Your leukemia came from 9/11. But even as it took hold, you never stopped showing up for other people. You never stopped being who you were.
Watching you grow sick was the hardest thing I have ever lived through. But nothing on this earth could have stopped me from helping you — the way you spent your whole life helping me. Being there for you, in the end, was the greatest honor I will ever have.
So thank you, Dad. For the life you gave me, and the person you taught me to be. The day I was born, you called me a gift. I need you to know — you were mine. You blessed all of us, your whole life long.
So now it’s my turn, Dad:
Rest easy. I love you. God bless you.
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