It hasn't been quite a year since I lost my wonderful daddy. I think of him everyday and miss him so much. There are good days and bad days. There are times that it seems he is still here and times it seems like his death was just yesterday and the pain comes back so strong that it takes my breath away. My daddy was a strong, kind, honest, brave man. About 12 years ago, I was driving to my parents' house and I had a feeling something wasn't right. I arrived there and found out that my dad had been having symptoms of a heart attack since the night before, but had decided to go out for the day anyway. My sister and I both have medical backgrounds, so we were quite worried. She lived there and I'm not sure why she let him go. I'm sure daddy wouldn't have listened to her regardless. When he arrived home in the evening (looking quite unwell), I wanted to call 911. I recognized the signs and knew he was having a heart attack. He insisted that I just drive him to the hospital. We did arrive in time. He was there for 40 minutes or so before he coded. My mother had arrived and was with him before he lost consciousness. The last thing he said was to reassure her she was a wonderful wife and that he loved her. He regained consciousness and was in the hospital for a week or so. After a second angioplasty, he seemed to be improving. He had waited too long and lost half of his heart muscle, but was doing well under the circumstances. I remember the terror I felt in that emergency room. The thought of losing my precious daddy was unbearable. I know the Lord never gives us more than we can bear. As a testiment to my father, he kept going and dealt with the discomforts of his ailing heart. Soon after the birth of my second daughter almost 10 years ago, my father was diagnosed with lung cancer. As usual, my daddy fought with all he had. He had half of his left lung removed, went through chemo and radiation and beat the cancer. Again, my daddy fought bravely and won. I am certain that daddy was waiting for me to be "okay". I had been through a divorce and a bitter custody battle. My father was there for me every step of the way. He financed the custody trial (we settled out of court....custody had stayed the way it was when the two year battle started out). I also battled depression and panic attacks. I asked my daddy how he dealt with all of the pain and tests he had to endure and he said, "I just look at it like an adventure, dear". He never let me know if he was scared or tired, he just went on being my daddy. I have tears in my eyes as I remember how loved that made me feel. Daddy was in and out of the hospital a lot over the next years.....near brushes, but he always pulled through. My brother in law was his family physician and said that all of daddy's specialists were in awe that he was still around. They called him a Timex sometimes. Well, last summer, I was remarried and my new family and I were out for the evening. I got a call that daddy was back in the hospital. He had gone into respiratory failure. I rushed there, as I always did. I arrived to find him in good spirits. They were able to get him breathing again without intubation. At that time, he decided what end of life care he was willing to have. He had his pacemaker replaced with a new one that would shock him out of an arrythmia and said that if he was to become unconsious he didn't want intubation or artificial nutrition to keep him alive. That night, I wanted any machine that would keep my daddy here. I know I heard the Lord telling me that my daddy was "already gone"....He was still here, but he was but a shell of the once strong man he had been. He seemed to be recovering a little bit and wanted to go home from the hospital. At first, there were physical therapists and nurses coming over....working with him. After a short period of time, it became evident that daddy just couldn't fight physically anymore. His blood pressure would drop if he even tried to get up. I spent most of my time at my parents' house, just holding his hand and telling him how very much I loved him. I am so grateful that I had that chance and that precious time with him. Each day, I would pray that he would be able to tell me he loved me one more time. Hospice had told us he would soon not be able to speak and not to make him feel he needed to. We would just talk to him and reassure him that we knew how much he loved us. I could not bring myself to actually say I would be "okay" when he left us for his heavenly resting place. I would never lie to a man that had never lied to me or to anyone else for that matter. I did tell him that I would be strong and that I understood that he may need to go. I told him I loved him and it was the day I dreaded....he couldn't say it back. He did, however, find the strength to put his arm around my back and pat me as if to say "there, there...daddy loves you, don't cry". I felt selfish, but I knew I was being as brave as I could. My birthday was in a couple of days and I only wanted to spend it with my daddy. As I kissed him goodnight the night before my birthday, I told him I wanted to celebrate my birthday with him. God granted me that very special present. My beloved daddy passed away the day after my birthday. He was surrounded by all who loved him as he took his last breath and his heart beat no more. I have never felt as much heartache as I did at that moment and in many moments since. There are so many emotions surrounding the loss of someone we love. I know some people are angry at the loved one, but that was the one thing I never felt. I know he stayed as long as he could. I know he is now with The Father and that he will be there waiting for me. I had days when I thought I couldn't go on, but I know my daddy wants me to be brave and strong for my girls. My youngest daughter is very spiritual and, although she misses her "pop-pop", she is happy for him. She tells me that she is so happy that he gets to be with God and that he has a perfect body once more. I am happy for that as well, but the sting of his passing is still with me. My heart aches at times. At other times, I feel like a child again, wanting nothing more than to hear his reassuring voice telling me everything will be okay. I call out to him sometimes, as I did when I was little. I know he is always with me.

My daddy had a beautiful service and burial. It seemed like a dream to me. I had to be pulled away because I couldn't stand leaving him in the funeral home the night before the funeral. We had a private burial and although it was totally surreal, I remember every second of that time. Seeing him return to the earth was necessary for me to really know he was gone. I have a hard time going to his home. My sister and brother in law live there with my mother and each change to the house makes me sad....It makes me wonder if he would like the changes. I'm sure he would. He wanted everyone to be happy and comfortable. His comfortable recliner sits without him in it. The tv is at a lower volume now. He used to need it turned up to hear it. His presense is always there. We recently lost his beloved dog. She had been his faithful companion for so many years. Speaking of his dog. On the night my daddy passed, Tasha (his dog) looked all over for him after he passed. His body was still there, but she seemed to know his spirit was gone. My sister's dog was the same way. They focused on the same part of the room that my father had intently gazed at. Before he stopped speaking, he had pointed to that spot and asked me if I saw how beautiful the light was that was coming from there. I saw no light, but told him I was sure it was very beautiful. I know there is a reason for all things and I know he did not suffer in vain. He met a peaceful end and never complained up until that time. I hope he is still proud of me as he looks down from above. I wish my girls could have had him longer. He had so much to share, but I will make sure to share all he taught me with them. He will never be forgotten. He will always be in my heart and a piece of me went with him.

I have a letter that I have to write to him at a later time. At the time of his death, my sister wrote a beautiful and touching poem for him, but I could not put words together then. I will now. It is my gift to him....a gift from my heart. He may not be here to read it, but as I read it aloud, he will know it's for him and that a daughter never loved her father more than I love him. He is my hero. He was the first man I loved and he is the man I respect more than anyone I know.