A vivid memory of one of the worst days I’ll ever experience in this life… that’s where it all began. I spent the day just like any other 11-year-old would in the middle of the summer, on the beach. I was staying with a friend and her family, so naturally I looked forward to the time that I was able to spend on the phone with my mom… but, on this day… Oh how I wish I didn’t get a phone call.

I remember answering the phone and hearing a quivering voice on the other end. My first instinct was to ask if my brother was okay because let’s face it, most times 14-year-old boys don’t make the smartest or safest decisions. But, to my surprise the call had nothing to do with him. My mom wouldn’t tell me why she was so upset but just assured me that I would see her early that afternoon. And so, we packed up our bags quicker than usual... my friend’s mom rushing us out of the house into the car. And I think that’s when I realized how very serious whatever my mom was upset about was.

When I stepped out of the car in front of my house, I was greeted by not only my mom and 14-year-old brother but my oldest brother as well. Heartache was painted over their faces like a picture no one would ever want to see… I had never witnessed such sadness in the faces of people that I love. I stood there confused and curious.

I stepped through the threshold of my house and a feeling of worry slipped across my body. And that’s when it happened. My mom sat me down and looked me straight in the eye and said, “Sweetheart, Daddy has been in an accident. He… he didn’t make it." I’ll never forget that moment. My body went weak. I couldn’t feel my limbs. I may have had sunburn but this pain masked everything my body was feeling. I fell to my knees and began to cry for what seemed to have last been until my body had no more fluid to cry out. It’s been 10 years and I still feel those tears.

I live in fear of losing everyone in my life. I live in angst toward the man who decided to have one too many and then proceed to get behind the wheel of a truck without thinking about who he could hurt. I live in a state of feeling half empty because, on that day I lost a man that every girl needs in her life.

When my dad first passed, people would say “It’ll get better in time.” And I can assure you… that may be the worst lie you can tell a person. Because I am living proof that it does not get better. It doesn’t get easier to tell people that my father died when I was 11-years-old. It doesn’t get easier thinking about everything he has missed in my life. And it sure as hell does not get easier, knowing that the first man to call me his own will not be there when I walk down the aisle. Losing him is a part of my story. No amount of time can heal a part of who you are.

I’m a firm believer of support systems. Having friends and family that know what can trigger your fears and sadness is important. But, at no point will those triggers go away… I can’t stare at a Chuckie Cheese without thinking of the giant mouse my dad carried with him to avoid people from asking for a ride on his motorcycle. I can’t think about Mission Beach in San Diego without looking back on the wedding we crashed just so that I, the 8-year-old with a small bladder, could pee. I cry when no one is watching so that everyone thinks I am okay. But I can assure you, that still… after 10 years… I am not okay and time does not heal all wounds.

In loving memory of Master Gunnery Sergeant Nicholas J. Formosa