When we are born our parents are usually relatively young, I however had much older parents. I remember being in elementary school talking with my classmates about colors, shapes, how to play tag, who got a puppy for christmas and how old our parents were, age was such a huge thing back then. When I was born my mother was 35 and my father was 52. In addition to his age he was also ill. I have fond memories of him lifting me up in the air when I was younger making me believe I could fly. I also remember he would come into my class ever St. Patrick's Day and play the multiple instruments that he was so talented in. What no one realizes about neurological diseases is they progress quickly and Parkinson's Disease is no exception.

When anyone you've knowing for your entirely forgets you, even for a moment, its heartbreaking. Starting from the moment I turned ten, my father started to become the former shell of himself. We would have to leave restaurants early because he was "getting stiff" and needed to walk around. It was almost embarrassing having the guy in the restaurant flinging his arms around be your father. I just wanted him to be like he used to. I wanted him to come to my soccer games and to come play the bagpipes terribly in my second grade class, but that man was slowly drifting away.

By the time I was a freshmen in high school .the dementia that is associated with this disease was in full swing. He would scream every night about the girl he saw in the corner of the room or how my mother was talking to her boyfriend on the phone. But none of it was true and we had no way to get that through his head. My grades suffered and I was being bullied but the only thing that kept me going to school was the relief that he wouldn't be there. This continued for a year before we were forced to put him in a home. My father, at 67 years old, was probably the youngest person living in his nursing home.

On August 28, 2011, hurricane Irene ripped though my costal Connecticut town, causing mass power outages and downed trees. In the wake of it all, my father was having a episode, fell out of bed and broke his hip. As my mother and two brothers met in the hospital emergency room after his fall she said "this is probably the end." I couldn't believe her words. My dad was a fighter he fought for himself. He left Ireland to experience a new life in America and he traveled throughout New England and New York singing his heart out in small Irish pubs. I didn't believe that he would be gone until I was much older.

On November 3, 2011 as I was leaving for school, the phone rang; he had passed away in the early hours of the morning. What no one tells you in this world is how to prepare for the death of a parent, but its even more impossible to be prepared when you're only 17 and supposedly have your life ahead of you. I live for my father everyday I see his spirit in everything I do, I see his humor in my brother Liam, his musical talent in my brother Shane, his artistic talent in my half brother Coby and I see his compassion for life in my mother.

I wasn't ready to say goodbye to my father Michael and my heart still aches for him but in every achievement I reach, I know he is proud of me.