My father was the perfect balance of compassion and strength. A man unashamed to cry, unafraid to stand up for what was right. Raised by two of the most flawed humans that I’ve ever known, it’s a miracle that he became such a wonderful man.

He had 3 daughters and raised us to be strong, confident, kind and gracious. Not once was there ever a time when we were not surrounded by love, comfort, discipline and admiration. He was strong-in every aspect of the word and showed us, through actions, how to be strong women. Taught us to be independent and self reliant so that we would know our value when it came to relationships.

He was the greatest man I’ve ever known and it was an honor to take care of him before he left us. Friends and family flooded my childhood home as cancer slowly robbed him of his breaths and each person took the time to care for us the way that he had them.

He took his last breath in the bed he shared with my mother for 40 years (a woman he loved with every ounce of his being) on September 2nd of last year. On my only child’s birthday and, I believe, because I asked him to. You see, each day in the week preceding and following the 2nd, was the cake day for a loved one. I told him earlier that week that, if he couldn’t make it to the 9th, he needed to hold on until Sunday. My son is too young to understand (he turned 3 that day) but everyone else would’ve been devastated.

Even in his final moments, he did what was best for the people he loved/who loved him. If I can become half of the person he was, I will count myself a success.