For Manchester

Megan Hurley, 15 • Elaine McIver, 43 • Courtney Boyle, 19 • Philip Tron, 32 • Wendy Fawell, 50 • Eilidh MacLeod, 14 • Liam Curry, 19 • Chloe Rutherford, 17

Sorrell Leczkowski, 14 • Michelle Kiss, 45 • Jane Tweddle-Taylor, 51 • Nell Jones, 14 • Martyn Hett, 29 • Angelika Klis, 40 • Marcin Klis, 42

Olivia Campbell, 15 • Lisa Lees, 44 • Alison Howe, 43 • Kelly Brewster, 32 • Saffie Rose Roussos, 8 • Georgina Callander, 18 • John Atkinson, 26

These are the 22 beautiful souls who died Monday night. Children and teenagers and young adults went to a concert and never came home. Parents went to pick up their kids after a fun night out and instead left them parentless. It's just not fair. My heart has felt so broken all week for their families, loved ones, and communities, the city of Manchester, those at the concert left unharmed but traumatized by the events, and Ariana Grande and her team. I can only hope and pray that they feel the love and support of the world behind them. 

My heart is broken that a terrorist attacked again, even more so that he targeted a concert mostly full of children, teens, and young adults. No child should go to a concert of a singer they love and idolize and not make it home safely. This is not what music is. But once again, humankind proved that love is louder than hate, and I'm thankful that people across the city worked together to help the victims, their families, and those stranded in the city. England is a place that is very special to me, and all my prayers and love are with those in Manchester recovering from this tragedy, and with those across the UK whose loved ones were lost in this horror.

Rest easy, brothers and sisters. May you be welcomed into heaven by the King of Kings Himself. We'll see you soon.

I can't sleep.

As soon as I think I'm tired enough to actually sleep, I start thinking about Orlando again, and it doesn't stop.

All of these mass shootings make me sick, but for some reason, this one has affected me more than any other. Aside from the few hours that I was watching the Tony Awards, I've felt like I've been swallowing a lump in my throat and fighting back tears every second since I woke up Sunday morning and saw this terrifying news.

I think I was in shock at first, but as I read more details, it began to sink in.

And then the numbers came out. And the names. The names of the forty-nine people taken in this violence came trickling in, and it became very, very, sickeningly real.

It's one thing to know people died. It's another thing to see their faces and learn their names. To stare at their pictures and have it punch you in the face that these really were actual living, breathing human beings with real lives and loves and dreams, not just a story on the news.

I think about the one victim, Eddie Justice, who, while trapped in a bathroom by the gunman, texted his mother begging her for help. One of the last messages he sent her was "I'm gonna die." Can you imagine getting a text like that from your child? In the middle of the night? When you had no idea anything could be going wrong?

I think about the investigators who had to walk through that nightclub. As was told to CNN, they had to walk through scores of dead bodies listening to phones ring as family members and loved ones called desperately trying to check on them. And they couldn't touch the phones to turn them off or answer the calls because it was...well, a crime scene. So they just had to listen to the ringing while staring at utter carnage.

I saw a post online where one of the doctors at the trauma center that was, thankfully, only two blocks from the club, who posted a picture of his blood-soaked tennis shoes and talked about what it was like treating fifty-four injured people and how he's keeping those blood-soaked shoes as a reminder of how he felt that night.

Even just writing this out makes me think I'm going to start sobbing. I don't know the last time writing a blog post about a news story seemed to physically hurt me this much. Maybe it's because I have people whom I love very much who are part of the LGBT+ community or Muslim, and I just imagine one of them being inside that club. I don't know. What I do know is that this hurts.

But the one sense of peace I feel is that in the midst of all of this is that there are still stories of love coming out.

There was a security guard at the club who managed to get 60 or 70 (his estimate) out through a back door as they were all crammed into a back hallway, saving their lives before the shooter found them. And all he could say when the news called him a hero was, "I wish I could've done more. There are a lot of people dead."

There are pictures and videos of hundreds of people lining up outside of blood banks for hours in the Florida heat to donate blood. Veterans showing up to give blood. Muslim men, in the middle of their Ramadan fast and at a time when too many people will blame their religion as a whole, coming out in droves to donate. An Orlando Chick-Fil-A spending Sunday (the day they're supposed to be closed) cooking hundreds of chicken sandwiches and orders of fries to give to people waiting in the heat to donate. Women and children, including Muslim women in their hijabs, going around giving food, water, sunscreen, and other help to the people in the lines.

I could write an entire novel about gun control and how the fact that we had 173 mass shootings in the 164 days of 2016 including Sunday in Orlando scares the hell out of me. But right now, I'm tired, and I'm sad, and I'm scared, and I'm trying desperately to hold onto hope that we'll go back to a world where mass shootings aren't the norm - where first graders can go to school, and African Americans can go to church, and family and friends can go to the movies without being scared of being murdered.

I really wish my brain would turn off so I can sleep, but even in thinking that, I think about all the people down in Florida who probably haven't slept since the shooting and are going to be haunted by this. And it makes all my troubles just seem silly.

Lord, be near. I don't know what else to say but Lord, please come and be with the brokenhearted.

These are the brothers and sisters we lost:

Edward Sotomayor Jr., 34
Stanley Almodovar III, 23
Luis Omar Ocasio-Capo, 20
Juan Ramon Guerrero, 22
Eric Ivan Ortiz-Rivera, 36
Peter O. Gonzalez-Cruz, 22
Luis S. Vielma, 22
Kimberly Morris, 37
Eddie Jamoldroy Justice, 30
Darryl Roman Burt II, 29, of Jacksonville
Deonka Deidra Drayton, 32
Alejandro Barrios Martinez, 21
Anthony Luis Laureanodisla, 25
Jean Carlos Mendez Perez, 35
Franky Jimmy Dejesus Velazquez, 50
Amanda Alvear, 25
Martin Benitez Torres, 33
Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon, 37
Mercedez Marisol Flores, 26
Xavier Emmanuel Serrano Rosado, 35
Gilberto Ramon Silva Menendez, 25
Simon Adrian Carrillo Fernandez, 31
Oscar A Aracena-Montero, 26
Enrique L. Rios Jr., 25
Miguel Angel Honorato, 30
Javier Jorge-Reyes, 40
Luis Daniel Conde, 39
Shane Evan Tomlinson, 33
Juan Chevez-Martinez, 25
Joel Rayon Paniagua, 32
Jason Benjamin Josaphat, 19
Cory James Connell, 21
Juan P. Rivera Velazquez, 37
Jerald Arthur Wright, 31
Leroy Valentin Fernandez, 25
Tevin Eugene Crosby, 25
Jonathan Antonio Camuy Vega, 24
Jean C. Nives Rodriguez, 27
Rodolfo Ayala-Ayala, 33
Brenda Lee Marquez McColl, 49
Yilmary Rodriguez Solivan, 24
Christopher Andrew Leinonen, 32
Angel L. Candelario-Padro, 28
Frank Hernandez, 27
Paul Terrell Henry, 41
Antonio Davon Brown, 29
Christopher Joseph Sanfeliz, 24
Akyra Monet Murray, 18
[one currently unnamed]

I'm never saying "Happy Memorial Day" again.

"Happy Memorial Day"...I never realized just how stupid this phrase is until this year. Stupid and...just plain wrong.

It seems natural. A holiday comes, and people celebrate it. That's how it works, right? Especially in this country, where we seem to have a holiday for every little trivial thing you can imagine.

Memorial Day, in recent years at least, means a day off of work or school, an excuse to go to the beach and relax, and, if you're in the south, one heck of a barbecue. I won't deny, that sounds pretty happy to me.

But people, myself included, got so caught up in those aspects that we forgot what this holiday was originally started to signify.

(Side note: Please PLEASE learn the difference between Memorial Day and Veterans Day.)

Memorial Day is about the people whom these flags represent. It's about all the servicemen and women who gave their lives so that we could go to the beach and have a barbecue without being scared for our lives. The countless soldiers who loved this country enough to give their lives for a future they wouldn't get to see.

My grandpa got to come home from war. Too many others didn't. And their sacrifices are too easily boxed into this one day a year that has become more about food and fun and relaxation than it is about reflecting on those who laid on a battlefield dying, who had their last moments on earth be shrouded in the greater picture of a war in which they were just one of thousands or millions fighting.

The bloodstained ground can be made clean with the rain, but the memory of those who gave everything can't be washed away, at least not for the people who miss them. We get to live in the "happy" of Memorial Day when there are people all across the country in mourning for those who never got to come to see another holiday. How screwed up is that?

May we remember today and every day that we have the good life we do in this country because of the people who believed in America enough to die for it. And if we're going to only take one day a year to reflect on the sacrifice that it means to literally lay down your life for your country, let's make it the day on which it the reflection was intended to happen.

A Day Worth Remembering

Somehow, I've lived in New York City for more than a year and a half, and this is the first time I made it here.

One World Trade and the 9/11 Memorial north and south pools. You can't understand how humbling and heartbreaking and moving it is to see these in person until you actually are there. I mean, I was 9 when 9/11 happened, so I remember that day, but it's one thing to know more than 3,000 people died in a matter of hours, and it's something totally different to see their names written out in front of you. So many names, written around the pools, I couldn't help but think about how we all knew that people died then, but not many of us actually knew people who died. But they were real people with families and loves and dreams and lives like the rest of us. What really got me, though, was this:

Someone stuck a white rose in the name of one of the people around the north pool (at least, I'm pretty sure it was the north pool, I may be wrong, though). Many of us hold dear the task of honoring the people who died on 9/11, but what is easy to forget is that they left families behind. Families who will forever grieve for the loss that hit them in one of the, if not the, most tragic ways possible. Prayers up for all those left behind.

Why did I go down there today? Well, I had a pretty legit reason.

Lauren is in town! Apparently 2016 is the year for me to meet longtime blog friends. She is in the city to see a show tonight, and since we've known each other for five years (at least!), we knew we had to work it out for us to get together even for a little bit. So this was the perfect excuse to see something new and meet this sweet lady! It's so fun to have online friendships come off the screen.

This is definitely a day worth remembering...for several reasons. :)

The harsh reality.

This video is hard to watch, but it's needed.

A bunch of veterans talk about their first kill….and it’s intense

God bless our veterans. They do what I'd never be brave enough to do and carry home memories I can't even begin to fathom.

This is what it's about.

I meant to post yesterday, but the day sort of got away from me.

9/11. The day has never been easy to face, but now that New York City is 100% my home, it means a whole lot more to me. My home had been attacked.

On the 10th, after a good deal of rain, a rainbow appeared, and from many angles, it looked like it was originating from One World Trade Center. I thought that was so symbolic.

Yesterday, I had to go to the pharmacy, which is only two avenue blocks away, but during that round trip, I'd say 75% of the people I saw were wearing 9/11 shirts or red white and blue, and I must have seen 5 or 6 ambulances. Being in New York, you get used to hearing sirens, but yesterday, they were coming a lot more frequently than usual.

I'm just glad I don't live up near OWTC, or I probably would have spent the entire day sobbing. For that reason, I avoided the news pretty much all day, but late last night when I couldn't sleep, I found a video of a story that I had never heard before and couldn't help but watch it.

Do you know about the Great Boatlift of 9/11? Did you know hundreds of civilians came together that day, and those boaters evacuated nearly 500,000 people in less than 9 hours, making it the largest sea evacuation in history, greater than an evacuation during World War 2 that took place over 9 days? Yeah, neither did I. Take 12 minutes and watch this video.



This is what it's about, y'all. Not Bush vs Obama, or Republicans vs Democrats, or arguments about what should have been done different or who's a bigger patriot. It's about the innocent people who died. It's about their families still grieving. It's about the men of Flight 93 who saved countless other lives by crashing that place in a field. It's about the first responders who died trying to save anyone they could find. It's about the survivors who got sick in the years afterward from what they breathed in that day. It's about all of us as Americans, remembering that even for a short time, we were one people and one nation. If only we could get back to that.

a set of turnout gear laid out for every firefighter lost on 9/11

Je suis Charlie.

I could write about many things for today's post...the amazing crab legs we had for dinner...the State game against Virginia...my hair cut (I was looking shaggy, just got it all shaped up as I continue to grow it out but it's a cute bob now)...spending an hour on the phone with Time Warner Cable trying to get the Duke game for my grandma only for them to tell me they couldn't get it...but all of that just seems stupid and pointless in light of what happened in Paris today.

Attacks like that, senseless massacres, they remind you what is important.

Love is important.

Tolerance is important.

Understanding and equality are important.

Just as the French stood with the US after 9/11, today, in honor of the lives lost, the world is standing with the French.

9/11: We won't forget.

Today was an interesting day.  I talked more about 9/11 to more people than I have on any anniversary at this school.  We even spent a good portion of my Model UN class discussing what we all remember from that day.

I don't remember a lot.  Probably the amount that most 9-year-olds remember.

The "lockdown" message coming over the intercom (living 20 minutes from the largest Marine Corps base on the east coast means no risks).  Knowing I couldn't leave school, and my mom couldn't leave hers to come get me.  Not knowing when we would get to go home.  Staring at the news all day, our young minds trying to process what was happening.  Getting home and watching the news all over again, the same pictures being rotated.

Taylor wrote this on Twitter today, and I loved it.  "Watching people jump from those 100+ story burning buildings still haunts me today.  Our childhood abruptly ended right there."  I wholeheartedly agree.  Anyone who was old enough to remember had their childhood stolen that day, just like kids today who were in Sandy Hook Elementary, at the Boston Marathon, and watched what the world really could be like.  It steals your innocence, that moment when you realize as a kid that some people out there are determined to cause harm to anyone they can reach.  The Newtown and Boston attacks didn't make the news until they were already over, but people nationwide witnessed that plane crash into the second tower and simultaneously destroy every feeling of inherent safety that came with being an American.

We watched as the towers fell.

We watched as the Pentagon burned.

We watched as the breaking news came in of the crash in the field in Pennsylvania.

So even from hundreds or thousands of miles away, whether anyone we knew was a victim or not, we were all a part of the tragedy that day.

And because of that, we won't forget.  We can't forget.  Not only because that was perhaps the defining moment in American history for my generation, or because we can't let the lives lost that day and the sacrifices made in the 12 years since go in vain.

But also because, if you're anything like me, you have photographs of that day imprinted into your brain, and they won't go away for anything.  I can't tell you anyone who was in my class that year, but I can tell you exactly what the TV looked like when that plane blew into the second attack, or the color of the soot that covered people as they ran screaming from the buildings as they fell.  I can tell you what it felt like to hear the screams, or to watch people choose to jump to their deaths over being buried or burned alive.  I couldn't forget the memories of that day, even if I wanted to.

And you know what?  I'm glad that I can't forget that day.  Because even in the midst of the sadness and darkness, that was the day the heart of our country changed.  That was when national pride flew higher than any flag.  And the memories that I hold are my constant reminder to never take for granted the country that I live in, to look past political differences and party lines to see people who love this country as much as I do.  We are Americans, and we are one.

Newtown: Sometimes words fail me.

Like today.

I will never have adequate words to describe the pain I feel in my heart for the people of Newtown, Connecticut.

Just like there will never be adequate words to console the families who were told that their child won't get to see Christmas Day.

I just don't have words.

All I know right now is that I am so thankful that as a Christian, I have the reassurance that the peace of Heaven is waiting for me and that this world is not my home.  I can only hope and pray that the families of the victims either have this same reassurance now, or that they find it.

Psalm 34:18 "The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."

John 16:33 "I tell you these things so that in me you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart! I have overcome the world."

Matt Turner

Today I am participating in a blogging day of silence in remembrance of Matt Turner.  He is a TV news anchor from Arkansas, and the husband of one of the bloggers I love.  You can read his obituary and learn more about him and his family here.  Saturday night, he was killed in a car accident, leaving behind his wife, Julee, and 10-month-old daughter, Preslee.  Today is his funeral.

Please, please pray for Julee, Preslee, and all the family and friends who are grieving the loss of their husband, son, brother, and friend who was taken from the ones he loves most in a tragic way that we cannot understand.  Pray for God to wrap His arms around all of them and give them a peace that passes understanding.  I am thankful that Matt was a man of God, so this is not the end for them.

Thank you.  I'll be back tomorrow.

11.11.11 - Do you believe in luck?

'Cause I'm not so sure I do anymore.

Oh, now, before you get concerned, this is not a bad thing. I'm still on an emotional high from this week.  Really, the fact that this week has been so amazing is sort of why I'm saying this.

So many things have gone right this week, and not once have I thought that I'm "lucky."  I've thought I'm blessed.  If I were lucky, my prayers would be answered as soon as I said them.  And this year, and the past couple weeks specifically, are the culmination of dozens of prayers over the years. 

God chose this time in my life to bless me with people and experiences that have made my whole world brighter.  Luck had nothing to do with it.  Everything amazing that has happened has been something He alone has orchestrated.  Seeing Nick outside of class  twice this week (Wednesday and today) when I've never seen him around campus before?  That's not luck.  That's God telling me that whatever Nick and I have going on right now is something good.  My friends being uber supportive and happy for me?  That's not luck.  That's God showing me that I finally have the people in my life that I've been praying for.  Living in a country protected by selfless men and women every day so that I can live a normal, free life?  That's certainly not luck.

So no, while everyone else makes wishes at 11:11, I'm just going to sit back and praise God for everything I have, everything He's blessed me with, this beautiful country that I live in, everyone I have in my life.

Happy Veterans Day.  In honor of all those who sacrifice for us every day, I'm going to post a video that will make you cry. Trust me, it's gorgeous. Listen to the lyrics of the song.

Rest in peace, sweet Sara.

You're finally free.

For Sara

Today is why I am so grateful I was introduced to blogging.

Because if I hadn't been, I never would have met Sara.

Sara is a woman in Iowa with a chronic, terrible, painful disease called Ankylosing Spondylitis.  Sometime within the next few days, she will be going to be with the Lord for eternity.

I never thought my heart could hurt so badly over losing someone I have never actually been able to hug in person.  Sadly, I don't think I fully realized until today the profound impact she has had upon my life.

Living in unimaginable pain every single day, she never once got angry.  Unable to step outside the walls of her condo, never to feel the warmth of sunshine or fresh air, she never once questioned what God was doing with her life.  She lived in a perpetual state of "it's not about me, it's about Him".  She was grateful to be living her life simply because she knew that she was living the life God needed her to.

I am in awe of this woman, and of what God did through her.

Because of Sara, I learned how to face my own medical issues and trials with a smile and the grace that can only come from Him.

Because of Sara, I learned how to stop focusing on what I wanted.

Because of Sara, I gave up on what I thought my life was and is supposed to be like.

Because of Sara, I learned how to choose joy no matter what the situation was.

And I am just one of hundreds of people across the globe who has been impacted in a profound way by her.

The balance of being happy that she will no longer be in pain and that she will be with her father and her Father and being sad that she will be leaving behind so many people who can hardly imagine life without her is such a fine tightrope to walk.

But even though I didn't know Sara like some people in this blog world, I know without a doubt that she would not want us to think about how it hurts to miss her.  She'll want us to rejoice in knowing that she is HEALED and WHOLE and running free, praising endlessly the One who made her with her dad by her side.  So that's what I will do.  For her.

Dear God, Give Your precious daughter peace and comfort in this final stretch.  Wrap Your arms around her family, her friends, every blogger and reader who was lucky to get to know her, whether it was in person or through a computer.  Your plan is perfect.  You can and will heal our hearts.  We know that You will not stop giving solace to each of us.  Thank You for your everlasting love, and for the gift that You gave the world for 38 years through Sara Frankl.

9/11: Who do you call a hero?

Ten years.

In some ways, it seems like it happened yesterday.  We're still entangled in wars as a result of that day.  People still talk about it.  Osama bin Laden was just killed in May, and the wounds were ripped right back open for a lot of people.

And yet, it also seems like it was a lifetime ago.  Yes, I remember that day, but so much has happened both to me personally and to us all as a country in the past ten years that I don't exactly remember what it was like to be a 9-year-old.

What I do remember is watching the news in shock of what was happening.  Crying in sympathy as I watched families mourn the loss of their loved ones.  Crying in joy as I listened to the stories of survivors, and of people who should have been in the Twin Towers when they were hit but for various reasons weren't.

I remember seeing the same videos played over and over and over of the rescue attempts, and the pained faces as responders realized there were way more of them than there were people who needed their help.

Those memories still resonate with me today.  And the word that is at the forefront of my mind as I think back on that tragic September morning and the years that have passed since is heroes.

HEROES.

My heroes are the 411 emergency responders who lost their lives by climbing up into the burning Towers just for the chance of saving the innocent people trapped.  They gave up everything for people they didn't know, simply because they knew they were needed, and it was their duty.

My heroes are the men and women, both passengers and flight attendants, on United Airlines Flight 93 who fought back when they knew their lives were in the hands of evil.  They saved the lives of who knows how many other people by doing everything they could to make sure the hijackers didn't make it to their planned destination.

My heroes are the Federal Airline workers, like operator Lisa Jefferson, who tried to help the hijacked planes, prayed with passengers who called, and delivered messages to the families of the victims, among many other things.  Their calmness may have given a little bit of peace to the victims as they faced unimaginable harm.  They never quit, even as they listened to the planes crash and people die.

My heroes are the thousands of men and women in our military who have fought overseas in the past ten years to defend America against those who seek to destroy us.  They go into battle knowing they might not come out because they love this amazing country.  I am in awe of their selflessness and strength.

As much complaining as each of us may do about the actions of our government, I think on this anniversary, we all realize that we really do live in the best country in the world, a country full of strong, resilient, and brave people.  I wouldn't want to be from anywhere else.

Remember this day.

Osama bin Laden is dead.

Today is a day America has been waiting for for 9 years, 7 months, 2 weeks, and 6 days.

Now, we must pray for the safety of the troops who are still overseas and are now at risk of retaliation.

A delicate balance between joyous celebration and somber prayer.

(And yes, my computer is still messed up. I had to use the on-screen keyboard just to post this much.)

9/11/01 - WE REMEMBER

I don't remember a life before 9/11.  A life without fear.  It's kind of like how I don't remember life before my dad died.  We all have these moments that shape us, that change who we are forever.  I may not remember much about what happened, but I live every day with effects of that tragic morning all around me.

You see it on the housefronts with the American flag flying proudly.

You see it on the marquees that read "GOD BLESS AMERICA."

You see it on the news programs covering the war we're still fighting nine years later.

You see it in the airports.

You see it in the obituaries, listing the latest casualties.

It's everywhere.  America is not the same.

I was only 9 years old and in 5th grade. I remember that we hadn't been in class very long.  After my teacher, Mrs. Smith got the message, she explained that our country had been attacked and turned on the TV.  Then, our principal came on and announced that the school was on lockdown, and no one was allowed to leave their rooms.  Let's just say, we got no work done that day.  We were just a bunch of 9 and 10-year-old kids, but we understood that something very big had happened to us.  We just had no idea how big it was.

I may not remember much about that day, but I do remember this:  I live in the greatest country in the world.   The country filled with men and women who volunteer to risk their lives so that we can keep living our lives blissfully unaware of what other people live with on a daily basis. 

Remember those who died that day.

Remember those still fighting to protect us.

Remember that there are people still out there trying to destroy the life we hold so dear.

Always remember...

I'd like for you to meet someone.

Richard Keith Jones. January 29, 1962 - June 17, 1999.

My dad.

Forgive me if I'm not the same person I usually am. It feels so hard to try and find the words to express what today means, what he means. I feel like I could never do him justice. Why? Because I know this man, but I don't know him. He was diagnosed with leukemia in August 1998, and was gone ten months later. When something this big happens all by your seventh birthday, it's hard to remember, I suppose. I have the stories that my mom tells me, but it still feels so impersonal, and that kills me, even now after ten years.

I want to remember so badly. I want to know what it was like to have my daddy hold me and tell me he loves me. I want to have good memories of time I got to spend with him, not have the first thing I remember to be waking up two days after my birthday to find my mom and pastor sitting in my living room. As much as I love my mom for all the sacrifices she's made, I constantly feel like something is missing. And I feel like no one understands how I feel because my sisters were old enough to remember what he was like.

He drove a delivery truck for UPS (United Parcel Service), and he delivered to the Ty Beanie Baby Company. The people there loved him so much that they frequently gave him beanie babies to take home to my sisters and me. Thanks to Chelsea allowing her friends to steal the gold necklace that I got from him for Christmas in 1998, those beanie babies are all I have left.

His death made me grow up faster than any seven-year-old should have to. I was afraid to show any emotion. I quickly figured out that if I was strong, I could help my mom. Even though she and my dad were separated and trying to get a divorce when he died, I think she was sad because she saw what losing him did to my sisters and me. That was when Chelsea's problems really started, and me? I'm not proud of it, but I refused to go to church, or even believe in God, for four years because my heart was hurting so horribly, and my young mind couldn't understand how a God that was supposed to love me could take away my father. I never "got over it" but I did come to terms with it. The beautiful thing about God is that He loves us even when we turn our backs on Him.

One of my favorite stories that my mom tells me is that in March of 1999, when I was at Duke having half my thyroid removed, my daddy was there, too, four floors above me. He called me every day that I was in recovery, and no matter how much pain I was in, my face always lit up at hearing his voice. I don't remember what I said. But that's not the important part. The important part to me is that he was my favorite person. I was Daddy's Princess. As my mom put it, I never ceased to amaze him or make him laugh with all the smart things I could say from a very young age. Now? I just hope I've made him proud. Family tells me that there's no way I couldn't have done that, but still. It just hurts to know that I'll never know.

This post wasn't easy for me. I was scared I'd never find the words to introduce him to you. I just wanted to get this off my chest and show the world the man who helped give me life.

Rest In Peace, Daddy. I miss and love you so much.