It is something that everyone fears, but few know the heartache until it actually happens to them .

I woke up one morning, like every morning, and noticed our dog barking. Two of my closest friends had stayed the night with me, so I went to check on things so that their sleep wouldn't be disturbed. I thought she might have to go outside, however, when I let her out of her pin she ran straight to my father's room and jumped on the bed. I tried to wake him, frantically, distressed. He had fallen asleep on his side, and it wasn't like him to not raise up as soon as he heard my voice. I started crying as I called my stepmother. I then called 911. I couldn't do anything but run to my room to tell my friends what was happening. I ran back to my dad's side and began doing chest compressions. By this time, his friend that lived nearby was there trying to help me do CPR. The ambulance finally arrived as the responders made their way in to help. I was yelling at them when they were only trying to do their job. I answered questions as best I could and begged them to put him on oxygen or shock him. Nothing. I called my boyfriend as I sat down in the hallway right outside his door. I was hysterical. People began arriving– my aunt, nana, and uncle, who is my father's twin. The coroner pronounced him dead of a heart attack at the scene. He tried to comfort us by saying he went in his sleep. The only thing I wanted to hear was his voice. The cops and EMTs carried his body out on a stretcher. The rest is a blur.

I remember his funeral like it was yesterday. The people, oh my goodness, the people, and the beautiful gifts and food that people were surrounding us with was unreal. It was a beautiful funeral, something I thought I could never even say. It was the last time I got to see his body and kiss his cheek. His cheek was cold, not warm like it always had been before, but his body still looked so strong. He would have been so proud. Unfortunately, the people disappear and time passes.

I was 18 on that cold, January morning. I was about to start my second semester of college. He had always been my best friend, with me every step–my games, prom, and graduation. He had my classes in college memorized and knew exactly when to call–when I was missing home and just needed to hear his voice. It hurt knowing he will not be able to give me away at my wedding or play with his grandchildren one day.

Losing a parent teaches you a lot of lessons. I wish I could cover them all, but the truth is I learn something new everyday. For the most part, it teaches you to be grateful. Be grateful for the time you had with that person, and be grateful for the ones you still have here with you. I regret ever taking my daddy's huge heart for granted; when it's your parents, it is so easy to. Be grateful for each day you are given. I told my father goodnight and hugged his neck, not knowing that was going to be the last night. You never truly know when your last minute with somebody is going to be. Also, it teaches you to take every minute in. If you don't know what that means, then you should start doing it more often. Seriously, every second of life, take it in. Live in that moment and be thankful for it. As I look back on the memories I have with Daddy I try to remember every little thing. His big hazel droopy eyes, the sound of his voice, the way he smells. This allows me to cherish the memories that much more. The last big message I have is don't be bitter. It is so important that you don't turn on the people you still have here. Share your feelings, be positive, and spend as much time with them as you can. If you let every bad situation turn bitter, then you will look at your life one day and regret not loving it.