When I started this blog, I forewarned everyone on the intro page that there would be both good, bad, and sometimes ugly on here. Well, here is one of those instances. It isn’t necessarily bad, but it isn’t a light hearted post. Today marks a day that still takes my breath away and brings tears to my eyes. Nineteen years ago today, I lost my very best friend. A man that raised me to believe that even though I was a girl, there wasn’t anything I couldn’t do, and that if I wanted something, I would have to work hard for it. While it feels like 19 years has flown by, it also feels like yesterday that his life was suddenly over and I was left without a father. While I do my best to suppress most of the memories from that day, there are pieces, I will never forget no matter how hard I try. As far as I can remember, it started out as a normal day. Noah was only 10 months old, and I was a stay at home mom. Joe was home from his deployment and was back to work. It was a Saturday, we had been doing some stuff around the house and dad had been in Pinckneyville at the Thresherman’s Association Day. It was all about the tractors. He had come home and Joe and I decided to go ahead and do our grocery shopping. We had almost decided to leave Noah at home with Grandpa, but ended up deciding to get something to eat while we were out and take him with us. As my dad entered the house, we were leaving and he looked at Noah and said the very last words I would ever hear him say. Noah had put his pudgy little arms around his neck to give him a hug and my dad told him he loved it when he did that. After getting the groceries we headed home. Dad had been at the house and had parked in the driveway. We decided to call him to let him know we were almost home so he could move his truck. He didn’t answer his phone and we figured he probably was crashed out on the couch. We tried to call again with no answer. When we pulled up to the house, Joe opened the garage door and ran in the house to grab the keys. I started to get Noah out of his carseat and head inside when Joe ran back out the door, looked at me with a panicked look on his face and told me to go to my moms. I knew something was wrong and I took off running with Noah in my arms up the stairs and what I was met with will never leave my mind. My dad was laying motionless, gray in color on my kitchen floor. He had just poured a glass of his favorite blue kool-aide, the ice still in the trays. The moment I saw him, I knew what had happened. He had a massive heart attack and according to the paramedics, he was gone before he hit the floor. Everything after that is mostly a blur. I somewhat remember running to the neighbors house for help. They took Noah from me and the neighbors fiancé and Joe tried to revive my dad. It was too late, but Joe didn’t want to give up. I will spare the rest of the details of waiting on the coroner and watching the funeral home take my dad from my house. The next day I joined my mom and husband at the funeral home and did one of the hardest things I have ever had to do, which was pick out his casket. The whole thing never really felt real. The day we buried him, and I saw the name engraved on the vault, it hit me. I never truly grieved the loss of my father. I was too busy keeping it together for everyone else and knew that Noah wouldn’t understand. I think about him often and wonder what he would be doing at this age. I’m sure spending time in the barn teaching Noah everything he knew about tractors, cars, and everything in between. He was only 53 when he died, which for me was too young. He had so much life left to live, and so many things left to experience. Losing my father at 27 changed the person I am today. I no longer feel like I can do anything I set my mind to as a lot of that came from the support and encouragement he gave me daily. When you lose a best friend, a piece of you goes with them and you never really get it back. Over the last 19 years, I have learned that life isn’t fair. It doesn’t always go the way you think it is going to and loving someone isn’t enough to keep them from dying. I have dreams about my dad, some where I get to talk to him and it is like he never left. Other times the nightmares happen and it is always the same dream. I am fighting to keep him here with me and no matter how I try, the result is always the same. I wake up on an emotional roller coaster and a tear stained face. I miss him. I miss his smile, his laugh, and his infectious personality that made him who he was.