Seven years ago today, my dad passed away from prostate cancer. He was diagnosed over three years earlier with Stage 4 prostate cancer, and by the time he even knew he had it, it had already metastasized to his bones. Yet, he fought on for over three years, and I won't lie, the last week of his life was excruciating. I was alone with him in the hospital the last moments of his consciousness, gasping for breathe, before he slipped into a coma. The last words he said, he spoke to me.
It always felt appropriate to be that way. I'm his first born, and was always daddy's little girl. But the reason, in my mind, that it had to be that way is because I always felt that I needed to be the strong one. I had to be the one to write his obituary, and to say his eulogy, and to support my mom and sisters as best I could right after he passed. And I needed to be the one to shield them from the horror of our last night together.
I wish that I can say that with each year, it gets easier, but that would be a lie. The first few years I was living in a complete fog. I don't even remember large parts of those years. I know that my friends and family were really worried about me, and I truly appreciate you all so much that stuck with me through this long haul. Now, the fog has mostly lifted, but I still miss him every single day. Especially around this time of year. But now, whenever the grief starts to become overwhelming, I try to think about my dad's strength, his determination, and his amazing will to never give up fighting.
And I think of the good things. His ridiculously corny dad sense of humor. His love of Three Dog Night and Elton John. His terrible dance moves (my dad was the original fist pumper). His infectious smile. His love of sports and coaching. Dad came from humble and unstable beginnings, and knew if he wanted to get out, he had to work hard and dream big. And he did. Dad gave me his ability to make a friend, his confidence (to a fault), his determination, his love of helping others, his leadership, and his big brown eyes. All of those things in me, and so much more of who I am, came from my dad. I am so lucky to have had him for a dad, and I am so sorry that I was not a better daughter at times. But dad taught me to keep on moving, no matter what, and I only hope that the rest of my life can be a reflection of yours. I know that I'm not the same person that I was when he was here with us still, but I know that he is still with me, watching over all I do. Love and miss him, always.
I would love to know, what are your favorite memories of him? Something that always reminds you of dad.
