Dear Daddy,

As you know, a couple weekends ago, Elsa, Eden, Zoe, and I went to go see Florida Georgia Line at the Dome. And as you know, the concert was AMAZING and I sobbed when they played "May We All." And before the concert, I bought their newest album "Dig Your Roots" so I could sing my heart out during the entire concert.

The album is amazing. Lots of variety ranging from fun party songs like "Smooth" and "Heat Wave" to really meaningful songs like "Dig Your Roots" and "May We All" and one more: "While He's Still Around."

The title of this song stuck out to me, and after one play, I was hooked. And sobbing.

I will never forget the day you got in your first accident. I was eight and you were just out on a ride like always. I will never forget Bert and Michael carrying you up to the door. You were so slumped over, barely able to walk. Mom ran to the door, screaming. I can remember you were in so much pain. You couldn't walk or talk, the pain was so bad. I had never seen you like this. Before, you were always that tough cowboy. Nothing could bring you down. And this was the first time I didn't see that tough cowboy.

I can't remember the exact day we found out you had a tumor in the kidney you had to have removed from the accident, but I can remember one event very well. You were at some event for Food Share or Feeding America or one of the other charities you work with months and months after the accident and your surgery and you had a pin on your shirt that said "I Am a Survivor." And in that moment, it really hit: my father is a cancer survivor. Sure, you didn't have to do chemo or radiation or anything like that (thank God) but you still had a tumor inside of you. And if it wasn't for you getting bucked off that horse and having to have your kidney removed, it could have been a lot worse than it was.

Life went on. Cancer wasn't on the front line of our minds anymore. Until junior year. This day I can remember well. I was leaving for Winter Camp a few days later when you and mom told me that the cancer had come back and that it had spread. But once again, no chemo or radiation. Just some surgery to help remove the tumors. 8 years in remission, gone. And even though we knew you were going to be fine, it was still scary. Just in the years prior, so many friends parents and so many of your friends had passed away.

The thought of losing you became very real in that moment. My crazy cowboy, my first love, the one who could always make me laugh when I wanted to cry. The one who would take me riding when I was a baby, would play "Scooby Doo" with me and Jessie, the one who would carry me around the ranch and sing to me while I tried to fall asleep. The one who all of my friends called the "cool dad." The one who coached my volleyball teams when I was a kid, the one who made sure every single person he crossed paths with felt special in some way. The one who gives 130% and even more. The one who raised me and taught me to always remember "who you are and what you are." The one who I want one day to walk me down the aisle and be the Bapa for my kids. The thought of losing all of this became very real during those few months you were sick of junior year.

But once again, the surgery was successful and the cancer was gone. And once again, remission was in place and you were a survivor again. A wave of relief came over me. I didn't have to imagine a world without you, because to me, it is a world I would never want to live in. To me, that is a world without laughter, love, goofiness, shorts and cowboy boots, Breakfast with the Beatles on Sunday mornings, the revving engine of the Rig after long rodeo nights, and daily emails of my cats with sentences like "God Bless America and Rodeo." To me, that is a world without joy. You have given me so much joy over the past 19 years that I will cherish forever and keep cherishing as long as we are together.

So like I said, after one listen, I was sobbing. And why, you ask?

Well, because it made me realize all of this above. It made all of the memories, horror stories, and instances rush back into my head. And it made me think, what if mom called me right now and told me dad was gone? What would I be angry that I had never done?

"Cause you never know when the phone is gonna ring saying heaven handed out some angel wings and all this things that you were gonna do are just tear drops raining on the church pew. So I'm gonna try to say it before I gotta pray it, hoping that he's looking down. And tell him that I love him, while he is still around."

So daddy, I love you. And I promise to tell you this everyday, while you're still around. I promise we will fix up the Rig and go to rodeos. I promise to tell you when I've met the one so you can give him your famous speech. I promise we will road trip to Wyomin' and learn all about being a real cowboy. And I promise to make the most of every moment together, because if there is anything a nineteen year old learns after her dad has had cancer twice, it is that life is too short to wait for anything. You just gotta take a deep seat, a far away look, grab tight to the horn, and hold on for eight seconds, right?

Love, Hootie