For these last few days, everything has been so strange and disorienting. It’s as though the fabric of reality has been torn or twisted. I keep wondering if I’ve been transported to parallel universe: one of those strange fictional worlds where the Germans won the war, where animals can talk, or where dad goes to the hospital and never comes home. I’ve had a hard time sleeping these last few nights. I keep waking up in the middle of the night trying to accept the new reality. But despite all the grief, the pain, the infinite night… amazingly, unexplainably, the sun keeps coming up. I was shocked when I first saw it rise on Saturday morning. The audacity of such a thing was insulting. My universe lying in pieces, and yet the sun did not stop… not for me, nor anyone else. And when the same thing happened on Sunday morning… the rays of light coming in my bedroom window, I finally realized that this was not some fictional universe. It was the same universe I’ve always been in. The sadness was real. The heartbreak was real. The sun was real. My dad was my hero. He was there for every big moment in my life cheering me on and there to keep me from falling when I made a mistake. He did everything he could to give me everything he never had. His core accomplishment was family. And as his only child, I was the lucky beneficiary. My father poured vast amounts of love and energy into me. He was a person of devotion and integrity, a man who understood a hard day's work all too well. I’ve never seen anyone do what he did, I don’t say this because he is my father. Im sure there are plenty of other people who several times wondered how he accomplished the things he did. He was a very giving person Always trying to help others. He never spoke about these generosities, and he never expected anything in return. What I will remember most about my father are those sandpaper-rough hands, made rugged from his day to day work. He had a way of holding your hand and making everything bad just go away. When I was young he took my hand in his every night he would call me his girl and tuck me in and we would sing " Jesus loves me".We spent our time practicing ball till there was no sun left. We drove around listening to the old country music songs as my mother shook her head and we belted them out loud. He was my partner in crime always ready to be the comic relief at any time. And I remember these things as if we had done them all last weekend -- because we did them again and again and again, his outstretched hand leading me everywhere. I know that my home and my life will be empty without him and I know that there will always be the feeling that something is missing. I’m sure that there are plenty of others that feel the same. He was a husband, father, son, uncle, coach, employer and friend. All of us here are suffering from the loss of my father, but the world will also now suffer from the loss of a great man who had much more to do on this earth. If I could see my dad one more time, I would tell him that I love him, that I am so proud of the life he led, and I will keep him in my heart always.