This topic is something that's hard for me to talk about, but I've wanted to write about it for a while now. This heartbreak was from a man, but not a boyfriend or anything like that. This man was much more important to me and my life.

When I was ten, my dad, Terry Simison, passed away. Death wasn't really a hard thing for me; especially since I never experienced it much. I was young so everyone who died before my dad I didn't remember or I was too young to really understand how death affected people. So when my dad passed I took it hard for multiple reasons. One of the most obvious reasons being that he was and is still is my dad.

It was June 24th when I found out that my dad had passed.

It was after his birthday on June 4th and after Fathers' Day. June 24th was a hot summer day. It was very nice out and I was playing at my neighbors' house when my mom came over to tell me my dad was in the hospital. She said that she was going to go see him and that I was to stay at my neighbors' house. I don't know how much time had passed when I saw multiple cars at my house and my mom walk in with someone who looked like my dad. Spoiler alert, it wasn't him.

I ran to my house and when I got there I saw my oldest brother, Brent. He picked me up and told me that our mother needed to talk to me. Now, this part is a little blurry for me, but this is what I think happened. He took me inside and sat me on out sandy yellow couch next to my mom; he then sat next to me. My mom sat me on her knee and told me what happened. To me, it felt like it took a little for me to register what she had said. However, in reality, I probably just started crying immediately. I was the last one to find out.

The next couple of days are a blur for me. I can't really remember much between finding out he died and his funeral. I do remember a couple of things though. The night that I had found out my dad died I slept in my mom's room. I didn't want to sleep alone and I think she probably appreciated not sleeping alone too.

That night I had a nightmare, though.

It's the only one that I still remember. In my nightmare, my mom had taken me and my brother, Nick, to her friends' house. My mom's friend had a grand staircase leading 20 feet up to a game room. I remember when my brother and I got up there I leaned over the staircase to say hi to my mom. Then all the sudden the railing gave out and I fell. Now, most people wake up before they hit the ground, but I didn't. I woke up after I hit the ground.

That night every time I tried to go back to sleep all I could picture was my body just laying on the ground.

I continued having nightmares or awhile. I don't know exactly how long they happened for, but every time I had one my mom would tell me to just picture the family at the beach. This worked for a while; I would picture everyone at the beach, me, my mom, my grandma, all of my siblings, and even my dad. This stopped working when I could no longer picture my dad there. Every time I tried he was just a blurry face and all this did was make me cry. Just thinking about this made me cry.

My dad was my best friend.

I wasn't really close to anyone else in my family. I was 100% a daddy's girl and I still am. Even though this happened seven years ago the wound never healed. Sure it got better; I didn't think about it as much or cry when I talked about him. However, this him dying is still a very open wound that's healing very slowly and when I say slowly healing I mean like the slowest thing you can think of.

My biggest regret was not telling my dad that I love him that night before he passed.