When my dad was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma in 2001, I was four years old.

As a kindergartener, I could not understand why my daddy was “sick.” Why did I have to change my clothes EVERY single time I came home from ANYWHERE? Why does daddy sleep all the time? Sleeping means he can’t play with me, and we were not supposed to bother him. He would be asleep when I got home from school, and I and my sister would go kiss his cheek and tell him goodnight before we went to bed. Most of the time, he didn’t even flinch.

There were certain things I remember about my dad being sick. People from our church came and painted our house. Boxes of donated food filled our bonus room, but I was just excited for all the boxes of Jell-O.

My dad shaved his head at my grandparent’s house one day, and I wanted to watch because I was captivated by my curiosity of what my dad looked like bald. I giggled and rubbed his bald head like it was a crystal ball but my sister cried and wouldn’t watch. As a 7-year-old, she understood a lot more than I did. Mema, my dad’s mom, used to get upset with him when he was bald for not wearing a hat when it was cold outside. He always shrugged it off.

He had surgeries which I now understand were to take lymph nodes to test. His stitches on the side of his neck were something I was told to be careful with, but once again I giggled and said they looked like black ants.

Dad had a “button” in his chest, a spot that also had the black ants crawling in a line. It was okay for me to press this “button” ever so lightly. He used to fake fall asleep or wake up when I would turn the “button” on and off. That was his port for his chemotherapy, but I had no idea.

Mama also used to give him shots. I liked to watch because I thought only nurses gave shots. I thought Mama was awesome for knowing how, and I was super interested in medical things. Mama also cried a lot — something else I didn’t understand.

What was wrong with my daddy? Why is everyone so quiet? Why is everyone crying?

I was so young I didn’t understand the severity of what was going on.

I don’t remember much else, but my daddy’s hair grew back. We stopped having to change clothes all the time. Mama stopped giving shots. He stopped sleeping so much, and the button and ants crawling on his skin were gone.

I was one of the lucky ones. My dad beat cancer. Unfortunately, it is not always like this.

When I hear that someone’s parent has passed away due to this awful disease, I am sad, memories come flooding back, and I feel guilty. That could have been me missing my dad and all the times we have made together. That could be me needing someone other than my dad to walk me down the aisle on my wedding day. That could be me introducing important people to a headstone instead of getting a handshake and a hug, and my heart breaks for all of those who have lost a parent and a loved one.

My dad is one of the biggest pieces of my life. He is my supporter, motivator, my best friend and so much more. I can’t help but think about the simple (and more complex) "adult" things I rely on him for.

Who would I call when my car is making a weird noise? Or when someone is trying to scam me out of money? Who would help me with my taxes or my FAFSA? (We all know how hard those things are @US Government.) Who would I call when I am super excited about something at work or when we win a football or basketball game? I couldn’t imagine life without him, and it is one of the most terrifying things to think about.

Growing up an NC State fan and a legacy of this wonderful university (Go Pack), I knew who Jim Valvano was. I had heard his speeches and knew his story. Jimmy V Week is special to my family as Valvano was a dad just like mine. I’m sure when he was diagnosed he had some of the same thoughts my dad had about the future, his wife, his children and the potential for not being around. It is rough hearing people talk about Valvano losing his battle with cancer. Not just rough for me, but for my sister, mama and especially my dad.

I am thankful every single day that God let me keep my dad. The experiences I went through when my dad had cancer shaped me in more ways than I thought possible and continue to do so.

I love you, Dad.