I will always love you, Daddy..

Have you ever been told that time heals all wounds? Yeah, me too. Sometimes I wonder if the people who say that have ever truly experienced grief or trauma. If they have, how could they possibly believe it? Because some wounds don't heal. Some losses don't shrink with time. We simply learn how to carry them. One thing I have been told is that healing is not linear. Out of everything people have said to me throughout my trauma and grief, that is probably the truest. Some days feel manageable. Other days feel like the wound was reopened yesterday. Grief doesn't move in a straight line. It ebbs and flows, crashing into you when you least expect it. For a long time, I thought my medical trauma and losing my babies would be the worst pain I would ever experience. I was wrong. Losing babies I loved, wished for, and dreamed about shattered my heart. It still devastates me to this day. But losing someone who was your protector, your guide, and your best friend is a different kind of pain. It leaves a hole in your soul that nothing can fill. My dad was my hero. No matter how old I got, that never changed. He traveled for work and always brought back little treasures from the different states he visited. He worked hard to make sure we could experience things, creating memories that would last a lifetime. He made sure we got to go to Disney when we were young. More importantly, he never let me doubt that I was loved. Every new experience seemed to begin with my dad. He taught me how to fish. My very first job was helping his company hand out flyers. He taught me how to use power tools, change a tire, repair fences for the cows, and tackle problems without being afraid. He taught me strength, responsibility, and independence. Most of all, he taught me what unconditional love looked like. I grew up believing I was his little princess. No matter how old I became, that never changed. What I didn't realize was that while I was growing up, he was growing older too. Never once did I imagine a world without my dad. The thought was inconceivable. Then one day, everything changed. You get a phone call. Something is wrong, but they don't know what yet. Then come the appointments, the tests, the hospital visits, and the waiting. Endless waiting. Eventually, they find the answer. Cancer. The word alone feels like a death sentence. Suddenly, you find yourself watching your superhero become fragile. The man who always picked you up when you fell is now struggling to stand on his own. The man who spent his life taking care of everyone else is now the one who needs help. You watch him lose pieces of himself. His independence. His strength. His confidence. His health. And there is nothing you can do to stop it. Even through all of it, he tried to reassure me. He would tell me he was going to get better. The doctors said he needed time. He clung to hope as tightly as he could because that's who he was. He didn't want us to worry. But cancer is a cruel monster. Little by little, it took more from him. It took his strength. It took his clarity. It took his ability to do the things he loved. Eventually, all he wanted was to go home. Deep down, I think he knew. He knew his time was running out. Family was everything to him, so when he came home, I took time off work and helped my bonus mom care for him. It was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Seeing my dad in that condition broke my heart. But after a lifetime of him taking care of me, he deserved to have someone care for him. He deserved dignity, love, and comfort in his most vulnerable moments. The nights were the hardest. Those were the moments when everything became real. Sometimes he couldn't rest. Sometimes his emotions would rise to the surface. He would look at me and, with whatever strength he had left, turn toward me. I would sit beside him. He would wrap his arm around me, and I would lean into him. Then we would cry together. He held me while tears soaked both of us. Nothing has ever broken me quite like those moments. I would tell him how much I loved him.I would tell him he was an incredible father. I would tell him that I would carry his love with me for the rest of my life. I would tell him not to worry about me. That somehow, someday, I would be okay. And then I would cry harder.Every night we shared those moments.Every night until the very end.When he took his final breath, I was holding his hand.I was telling him how much I loved him. And when that moment came, I didn't just lose my father.I lost a piece of myself. A piece of my heart left with him that morning and has never returned. How do you move through life without the person who helped shape who you are? How do you navigate a world where your best friend no longer exists in it? Who are you when the person you've looked up to your entire life is suddenly gone? I still don't have those answers. So when I need to feel close to him, I visit his grave. I bring his favorite flowers. I sit with him. And I talk to him. I tell him what's happening in my life. I tell him about the things I know would make him laugh. I tell him how much I miss him. Because the truth is, the love between a parent and child doesn't end when death arrives. My dad was one of the most selfless people I have ever known. He would help anyone he could without expecting anything in return. Even on his deathbed, he was worried about his children. Anyone who knew him knew that his kids were his entire world. And while losing him has been the greatest heartbreak of my life, I will forever be grateful that he was my dad. Not everyone is lucky enough to have a father who loves so fiercely, gives so selflessly, and leaves behind a legacy of kindness and devotion. I was. I will always miss him. I will always love him. And no matter how many years pass, I will always be his little princess.