When I was six years old, life was vibrant and limitless. The spring was full of running around and baseball. Summer was nothing but swimming and playing Cowboys v. Indians with my cousins. When fall came around, I just played football, football, and more football. The winter was all about making snowmen and sliding down those giant white hills. This all changed one morning.

My mom ran into my room saying, “Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!” I was just so tired I fell back asleep not thinking it. She rushed back in minutes later, repeating the same command frantically. I hurried out of my bed and out to the living room. What I saw changed my whole life.

I saw my dad face down on the ground. Dad wasn’t just an average-sized guy. He was 6’3” and 250 pounds with a real beard. The guy was untouchable in my eyes. This was the man I called Dad. How could he be dying? The whole day seemed as if it weren’t reality. When we went to the hospital to see my ad, I never expected my hero, my best friend, my role model, and most importantly my father to just be gone within seconds. It didn’t really affect me at first because I wasn’t really sure what has happened.

The memory is still clear in my mind. As I walked back from the cafeteria with the youth leaders from my church, I saw my mom crying. She told me in the waiting room, “Daddy isn’t coming back.” She hugged me while I just bluntly stared at her in confusion. In my world he was just simply sleeping in the next room. No one told me how my dad died, and I still have no clue why he’s gone.
Later that morning, as my dad lay in the hospital, our pastor came from our small church in Grover Hill and said a prayer about my dad and asked God to look over my mom and me. There were many people inside of the room. There were the youth leaders, my uncle, mom, pastor, and an occasional nurse coming in and out.

That one day changed my whole life. I don’t have a dad now to tell me what’s right or wrong. He was my best friend. What he did I had to do. If he went outside, I went right with him. He taught me how to use an actual bow and arrow. We used a simple bail of straw and didn’t stop shooting until we heard the words, “Supper is ready!” He supported everything I did. If I wanted to do something, he would go outside and practice it with me. My dad believed in me that I could be or do anything I wanted. It seems like the only way we could separate is by death. I remember his amazingly scruffy beard, his fulfilling hugs every day before he went to work, and how we always talked about what we wanted for dinner.

I have yet to find a role model to take his place. I would do anything to simply hug my dad again.