Death is one of those things you might be able to prepare for, but it knocks you over when it happens. Once the services are done and the casserole dishes scraped and put away, you're left with an emptiness that aches to the very core of your being. It's the finality of it, the knowledge that the one you loved, the man that raised you is gone. No more calls. No more texts. No more barbecues.

You could search your whole life and never meet a man like him. The kind of guy that would give you the shirt off his back, and the cash in his pocket, no questions asked.

A proud American and a veteran, he was a corporal during the Korean war. He never saw combat and often joked the only fighting he ever saw was swatting the giant mosquitoes in Oklahoma.

The end of his life came swifter than any of us thought. Happy Fathers Day, you have lung cancer, gone the Sunday before Thanksgiving. The weeks leading up to his passing were an endless array of tests, medication changes, and hospice care. He was 86 and decided from the beginning no treatment and no resuscitation measures.

God was with him at home and I was honored and blessed to be with him when he left this earth.

The grief never goes away, it just changes. You recall beautiful, funny memories instead of pain and sickness. I miss him every single day and want so much to be in his presence again.

I love you Dad. My hero.