My dad was diagnosed just a week after my 21st birthday and just three days before i was scheduled to move back to for my senior year of college that was 2 hours away from home. I was more than ready to take a semester off to help around the house and with my father. We were told that it was stage 4 lung cancer, that was highly aggressive and had already metastasized. We were told he would have maybe 2 years but that it was unbeatable. That entire weekend we argued back and forth but my father finally told me that if I quit school that he would quit fighting, so naturally I went back.

September 7th, we had a softball game and I received a phone call that dad had been admitted for pneumonia. Working within a long term facility, I had seen it time and time again, and knew that we didn't have much longer with him. I contacted my coaches and immediately rushed to the hospital with my little brother. Dad went home the following Monday, but my stepmom had told me that the doctors had given him until Christmas. I went back to school with the internal battle of rather to just come home or continue school. 

September 20, I was working with some recruits that were looking at joining our team this coming August. When I went back to the locker room, I saw that I had missed calls and texts from my uncle whom I hadn't talked to since my senior year of high school; I had this feeling in my stomach that this was THE call. I called him back once I got to my car and it was what I was afraid of. He told me that I might want to come home because it wasn't looking too good. Heartbroken I went and told my coaches that I was going home and didn't know if I'd be back in time for practice on Monday. I got to the hospital and dad recognized me but still asked questions. He asked if he had a son. Knowing my father's memory was going was one of the hardest milestones within this process. I left that night praying that I would still be able to talk to him the next morning. 

September 21st, I was on my way to hospital with my uncle, his wife, and my brother. I had this uneasy feeling and my uncle was texting a lot that was out of his normality. Being the person I am, I asked if something was wrong and demanded that he be honest. We were half way to the hospital when we were given the news that dad had had a really bad night and that the doctors had said that he might not make it through the night. I tried holding it together while in front of my brother, but couldn't find the courage to step into dad's room when we got there. I was afraid of what I would see; after working within a long term care facility you know what it's going to look like when you walk in.

I sat by my dad's bedside all day long, watching football (this was our normal Sunday routine) and fed him banana popsicles. He couldn't speak and barely moved that day but he let my brother and I know that he knew we were there with him. Trying to be strong for my family, but mainly for my father, was the hardest thing I think I have ever done. Leaving that night I wondered if I would be receiving THAT phone call and the hospital was over an hour away.

September 22nd, that morning I woke up and called my stepmom and asked how he was doing. She told me he was doing fine and that he was sleeping. I told her that we were on our way and asked her to put me on speaker phone, I told daddy I loved him and that I would be there soon. I told him to stay strong and that he was not done fighting yet (that was dad's most famous words each night I called him). 30 minutes after talking to my stepmom, I was 40 miles from the hospital and my phone was ringing and it was my stepmom. I answered and she told me the one thing that I had been dreading. She told me that he'd been given just 2 hours to live and that they were bringing him home. I immediately turned around and went to check my little brother out of school. I told him the news right there in the office and the look on his face broke my heart. I came home to meet hospice and called all of our family friends that had been here every weekend and helped make our house a home. Those 2 hours had passed and daddy still wasn't stable enough to come home. By 1:00pm, I received a text stating that they were on our way home. A little before 2:00pm the ambulance was pulling into our drive way and bringing dad in on a stretcher. I met them at the door and the sigh of relief I heard escape my father told me that he had been fighting for us. I sat by his bed for 6 hours that night, talking to daddy and letting him know, trying to reassure myself, that we were going to be okay. That he could go on and be free of this hell. 

My daddy passed away at 7:48pm on September 22, 2014 and I knew from here on out my life would be a struggle. I never thought I would be burying my dad at the age of 21 or my brother only being 17.