Zoe Clark-Coates once said, "I had no idea with grief comes fear. A terror that swoops in from nowhere. You fear the future, you fear the now. You are left feeling like an innocent child, wanting to be rescued, needing to be protected, longing to be hugged. Who knew grief looked like this… that it's not just a feeling, it's a new way of living."

Death is hard.

But the death of a parent, someone who loved you with their whole entire heart, the one that would you give the world at the end of the day, is harder. I have lost friends or family from suicide, drugs, drinking, murder, drunk drivers, and cancer. But nothing in the world will ever compare to the death of losing my parent.

You're confused all of the time.

You have to re-do all of the activities of your everyday life that were surrounded by your parent. And the hardest thing is, you don't know how to. How do you do that if you made them your life? How do you do that if you made them your world? I will not say that it's easy, because it's not. It is the hardest thing I have ever had to do.

Don't be afraid to talk about them.

You may seem like you've talked about them too much, but you haven't. If something reminds you of them, talk about it. For example, I was not raised in a house that was faith-based. When I lost my dad, I feared to talk about him because it would hurt my mom. But when my older sister and I were together, we talked about him. We talked about the funny stories, we talked about how goofy he was, how much we loved him, and how he impacted us. I held out hope that maybe one day, I will see him again.

They are still with you.

I would read stories online about how people would get signs and I wished so hard to get a sign like that, anything that he was OK. And I did. I am thankful for that every day. Hold out hope that you will receive a sign, and do not forget they are with you every step you take, every day.

It is OK to smile.

You will have some people telling you that you shouldn't be at work or you shouldn't be smiling, that it is too early. Everyone grieves differently, and you are doing just fine. You are doing your best. If you have to take a mental health day, take it. If you have to take a break from reality, take it. Do not let what anyone says about grieving change your grieving process. It is your life, it is your loss, not theirs. How you want to go on every day, is up to you. But, do not isolate yourself from reality. Do not lose who you are or who you are meant to be. It is OK to fall seven times but make damn sure you stand up eight. Cry, fall, break, but always get back up and try again.

It will not sink in for a while.

For me, I was there when my dad died, holding his hand and begging my mom to tell me we had more time, that this was not happening. But it did not sink in. When my sister and her best friend had to physically drag me away from him, it still did not sink in. When his funeral came, it still did not sink in, even though when I held his hand and kissed his forehead he was cold, it still did not. When Father's Day rolled around, that is when it finally hit me. Last year I put together a scrapbook of our memories and he loved it. I thought back to that day and that is when it had hit. My dad is not coming back. If you do not feel it right away, it is OK.

You do not have to be strong all of the time.

If you need to cry, cry. If you can not hold it all in, do not. It is OK to break. It is OK to fall apart. It is supposed to feel like that. Do not put on a brave face and act like you are OK because it will only eat you up. Let the tears fall, scream until you have no voice, it is OK.

Milestones will be painful.

My dad was not there for my graduation, my 18th birthday, or my first day of college. When I walked the stage at graduation, all I could think of was how happy he would have been knowing I beat every obstacle life threw at me. My birthday felt like there was a void, there was not a voice singing happy birthday in the craziest way possible. My first day of college, I wanted nothing more than to call him and tell him how it went. I was jealous of everyone who gets to talk to their dad and tell them about the experience they are having. And that is OK. I talked about my dad in my graduation speech, I had him to thank for everything I made it through. He was my No. 1 supporter and I needed to thank him.

It is hard to unexpectedly be reminded of losing them.

I wear my dad around my neck every day. I get asked, more than I ever thought I would, "What does your necklace mean?" And when I tell them it is his ashes, they feel bad. It does hurt. There will always be so many questions that follow. "What happened?" "Do you mind me asking how?" "How did you get through it?" But the one that hurts the most is, "I am so sorry, you are so strong." I hate that one. When I went through his loss, I did not feel strong. I did not know if I was ever going to get through it. The unexpected questions hurt the most. If you feel like that, it is OK.

We worry about losing the surviving parent.

My older sister and I researched the Widowhood Effect. It is real. It is sad. It is terrifying. We were adopted into this family 14 years ago, we do not want to lose the ones who changed our lives. We wake up every day scared that the Widowhood Effect will hit our family. We spend more time with our surviving parent, more time telling them we love them. Even with pointless phone calls like, "Hey mom, I just got done eating chicken nuggets for the 15th time this week, what are you up to?" Again, it is OK.

Finding a way to cope is harder than it sounds.

For me, I write. Even writing this, I feel as if I am writing for someone else. I feel as if I did not go through this heart-wrenching pain, that my dad is still here and I am waiting for him to come out and yell "April Fools'!" Reality hits harder than you will ever think. You want to call them, you want to hold them, you want to scream out for them in hopes they will come back but they do not. Whatever way you chose to cope know that it is OK.

I never knew how much my life was actually going to change when I lost my best friend. I would try to put scenarios in my head of life without him. I would imagine waking up at midnight and having to go back to sleep because he won't be waking up to make a snack. I would imagine coming home after work and telling my mom how it went. I would imagine going out with my friends more. However, no matter how much I imagined or created scenarios in my head, nothing was like reality.

There was no more waking up every Sunday and helping my mom put his medicine together. There was no more singing worship songs with him on the way to work. There was no more sitting outside with him and telling him how much I loved him. There was no more telling him he was strong and that he would beat cancer. There was no more praying for him. There was no more made-up stories or hearing him sing. There was no more waking up, finding him, and saying "Good morning, Dummy." The reality was tough. I found myself watching videos of him all the time, looking at pictures, wearing his clothes because I wanted to feel his touch again. I ached for his love, for his stories, his songs, and him.

When he would introduce me to someone new, he would always introduce me as his nurse. He would tell everyone how much he is proud of me. Nobody had told me about the heartaches, the dreams, the signs. Nobody warned me how different holidays were or the void there is looking at his recliner or the chair he always sat in.

When family came over, I would always sit by him, laugh with him, smile at him, and I did not feel alone. So what do I do when I'm surrounded by family but my best friend isn't here? Do I laugh? Do I cry? Do I try to include myself? I tried, but I found myself feeling more empty. You can be surrounded by people who love you and who you love but that's the thing about grief – when grief hits so does this feeling of sadness that keeps washing over you. I turned to be afraid of going out because maybe, just maybe, something will remind me of him.

Truth is, my dad was more than my dad. He was my best friend, my partner in crime, and the light in every day. I was scared to live a life without him. Now, there is a cardinal that sits outside my house every day. I have a teddy bear with his voice in it. I have his favorite flannel. My dad is truly always with me, whether or not I feel it.

My advice to anyone who has lost a parent or who is about to lose a parent, love them. Love them unconditionally every day. Love them even when you dislike them. Love them even if you don't love yourself. Just please, love them.

The last few days of my dad's life, I spent loving him. I spent wanting to be curled up next to him because the future scared me. I wanted nothing more than to hold his hand and tell him how strong he was as I rubbed his hand. I wanted nothing more than to make him proud. After he passed, I did not want to go to college. I did not want to wake up every day knowing he would not be there to say good morning. I did not want to wake up in a world that felt so unreal. But here I am, following my dreams at such a beautiful school. Here I am, living the life that he wanted me to.

My dad saved my life by adopting me when he did not have to. He saved my life by taking me out of such a toxic life to love me as his own. He was not just my angel on Earth, he was so much more and he will continue being so much more. I hope that one day I will be half the person he was.

It will be hard, without a doubt, but it will be worth it. Live every day like there is no tomorrow, live every day like your parent is watching you. Live every day being the best version of you that you can be. Live every day with no regrets. At the end of the day, don't just say that you survived, say you lived. You lived for your parent. You lived for your guardian angel up in Heaven. You lived.

Thanksgiving night of 2018 changed my life forever but one thing is for sure – my dad might have taken his last breath on Earth as my dad but he took a new one up in Heaven when he became my guardian angel forever. I love you, Daddy, forever and always.

David Newton Barron 09/04/1952 - 11/22/2018 Shanel Lynn