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Description
I grew up in a small town until I was about seven years old.  Shortly before I was to start the second grade, my mom announced we were moving...to a place almost three hours away.  Since my parents were divorced, this meant something horrible...I would not be able to see my dad as much.  I ran to my room crying; I didn't want to leave everything I'd ever known behind...espcially my dad.  Moving day came and my dark, sad eyes filled with tears...tears of sadness, lonliness, and fear.
Weeks passed and I got to see my dad every other weekend.  I guess this wasn't so bad...it was better than not seeing him at all.  When he came to pick me up, it became routine for me to jump into his strong arms and hug him while he lifted me into the air to pick me up.  Weeks turned into years, and despite the distance, my dad and I became very close; I was daddy's girl.
One morning when I was doing some laundry before school, my mom came running down the stairs to tell me horrible news; my dad had gone into emergency surgery to have some tumors removed...tumors no one knew about not even my dad.  My family and I knew he had been sick off and on for a couple years, but his stubborness refused to see a doctor.  Little did he know what this stubborness would do.
After we got the news, my mom and I got in the car and drove that three hour drive to see my dad in the hospital.  I wasn't prepared for what I was about to see; there my dad was, lying in a hospital bed, as pale as the sheets covering him.  He had these loud machines surrouding him, and all these tubes and needles poking into his pale skin.  I walked over to his bed, choking back my tears.  I leaned over to give his cold, weak body a hug.  My mom and I didn't stay long; it became too hard for me to see him lying there.
After the surgery, my dad had some tests done...tests with results that would change my life forever.  My dad had cancer...he was dying and there wasn't a damn thing me or anyone could do about it.  After several months of being in and out of hospitals, the doctors decided that not even chemotherapy or radiation would help my dad now.  I soon became angry, not at the doctors for stopping my dad's treatment, but at my dad for refusing to see a doctor when he first got sick.  If he'd just put his stubborness aside, maybe he could have been helped.
The next few months my emotions were a mix of anger and sadness.  My world was falling apart more and more everyday as my dad got more sick.  One horrid summer afternoon my dad took a turn for the worse and the hospital had to come get him.  The put him onto a stretcher and began taking him outside.  I heard a faint voice and it was my dad; he was trying to tell me something.  They were last words he spoke to me, "I love you," he said with a tear running down his thin pale face.  The tears came pouring out of my eyes. "I love you too, daddy," I said back to him holding his hand as long as I could before he was put into the ambulence.  After that, my anger towards him was gone, and there was no way I could tell him; he'd slipped into a coma shortly after he left.
The next few days were a living hell; my dad was slipping away from me one moment at a time.  The worst day of my life came one dreary, rainy,July day.  I had fallen asleep holding my dad's hand and awoke to the nurse coming into his room.  She came to check on him, and the words were ones I will never forget, "I think he's gone," the nurse quietly said.  I collapsed in my chair and tears were pouring from my eyes as if they would never stop.  My dad was gone, and he was never coming back.
It has been almost five years since that day, and I still miss my dad.  I wish I could hold him and tell him I forgive him for being stubborn, and tell him I love him one last time.  I learned something that day; always tell those you love what you need to say before it is too late.  You never know how long you have with them.
John Kenneth: June 27, 1955-July 21, 1999
Heaven gained an angel the day we lost you.

Description
I grew up in a small town until I was about seven years old.  Shortly before I was to start the second grade, my mom announced we were moving...to a place almost three hours away.  Since my parents were divorced, this meant something horrible...I would not be able to see my dad as much.  I ran to my room crying; I didn't want to leave everything I'd ever known behind...espcially my dad.  Moving day came and my dark, sad eyes filled with tears...tears of sadness, lonliness, and fear.
Weeks passed and I got to see my dad every other weekend.  I guess this wasn't so bad...it was better than not seeing him at all.  When he came to pick me up, it became routine for me to jump into his strong arms and hug him while he lifted me into the air to pick me up.  Weeks turned into years, and despite the distance, my dad and I became very close; I was daddy's girl.
One morning when I was doing some laundry before school, my mom came running down the stairs to tell me horrible news; my dad had gone into emergency surgery to have some tumors removed...tumors no one knew about not even my dad.  My family and I knew he had been sick off and on for a couple years, but his stubborness refused to see a doctor.  Little did he know what this stubborness would do.
After we got the news, my mom and I got in the car and drove that three hour drive to see my dad in the hospital.  I wasn't prepared for what I was about to see; there my dad was, lying in a hospital bed, as pale as the sheets covering him.  He had these loud machines surrouding him, and all these tubes and needles poking into his pale skin.  I walked over to his bed, choking back my tears.  I leaned over to give his cold, weak body a hug.  My mom and I didn't stay long; it became too hard for me to see him lying there.
After the surgery, my dad had some tests done...tests with results that would change my life forever.  My dad had cancer...he was dying and there wasn't a damn thing me or anyone could do about it.  After several months of being in and out of hospitals, the doctors decided that not even chemotherapy or radiation would help my dad now.  I soon became angry, not at the doctors for stopping my dad's treatment, but at my dad for refusing to see a doctor when he first got sick.  If he'd just put his stubborness aside, maybe he could have been helped.
The next few months my emotions were a mix of anger and sadness.  My world was falling apart more and more everyday as my dad got more sick.  One horrid summer afternoon my dad took a turn for the worse and the hospital had to come get him.  The put him onto a stretcher and began taking him outside.  I heard a faint voice and it was my dad; he was trying to tell me something.  They were last words he spoke to me, "I love you," he said with a tear running down his thin pale face.  The tears came pouring out of my eyes. "I love you too, daddy," I said back to him holding his hand as long as I could before he was put into the ambulence.  After that, my anger towards him was gone, and there was no way I could tell him; he'd slipped into a coma shortly after he left.
The next few days were a living hell; my dad was slipping away from me one moment at a time.  The worst day of my life came one dreary, rainy,July day.  I had fallen asleep holding my dad's hand and awoke to the nurse coming into his room.  She came to check on him, and the words were ones I will never forget, "I think he's gone," the nurse quietly said.  I collapsed in my chair and tears were pouring from my eyes as if they would never stop.  My dad was gone, and he was never coming back.
It has been almost five years since that day, and I still miss my dad.  I wish I could hold him and tell him I forgive him for being stubborn, and tell him I love him one last time.  I learned something that day; always tell those you love what you need to say before it is too late.  You never know how long you have with them.
John Kenneth: June 27, 1955-July 21, 1999
Heaven gained an angel the day we lost you.