It was a hot, sunny morning on April 20, 2001. The cool breeze made the day an enjoyable one. That morning was like every other morning. The birds were singing and my children were roaring in the backseat of my vehicle. I had no idea that day would be the day I said goodbye to my daddy.
I had spoken to my father the night before. I had asked him how he was feeling. He told me he was feeling much better than he had felt in weeks. He had gone through a very extensive surgery weeks before to remove cancer from his throat, stomach, and lungs. So he was in a lot of pain. We talked for a few minutes longer. I told him I would come and see him the next day and that I loved him.
I dropped off my children at the daycare and headed for work.
I arrived around nine in the morning. I sat down at my desk and began to type like every other day. The phone was ringing and people were talking. The receptionist at the front desk informed me that I had a phone call. I left my desk to answer my call. It was my husband, Dean. He began to tell me that my father's wife, Lana, had just called him at home and was hysterical. She informed him that my father, John, was vomiting blood and was unconscious. He was covered in blood and not breathing. I hung up the phone and headed out the door.
I was racing my car, exceeding speeds over 80 miles an hour. All that was on my mind was my father. Thoughts of my whole life growing up with my father were running through my mind. As I was weaving in and...