My First Love

I grew up the youngest of three girls. I never had the pleasure of living with my oldest sister, Julie, as she was on her own and starting a family by the time I came along. I did, however, share a bedroom with my older sister, Stasi.

Stasi, now this girl is 100% a "grandpa's girl." Me, although I love my grandpa, I am 100%, without-a-doubt, no questions asked a "daddy's girl."

My dad was my first love. I remember falling head over heels for him as we danced together in the kitchen while I stood on his feet and he led me through the two-step. This love only grew through the years as he taught me about value, character, sports, fishing, the Bible, relationships, hard-work, acceptance, and love.

I have many, many memories about my dad and memories with him. When asked what my favorite memories were growing up I, without hesitation, talk about fishing with my dad, him coaching me in sports, and the random and surprise trips to a favorite local pizzeria in Ohio to get a pretzel, yoohoo, and play Mrs. Pacman.

I have always admired the man I called "dad."

The Saturday morning before Easter I received a phone call from my mother that no child ever wants to answer. I knew as soon as I saw my mom's name appear on my caller I.D. what she was going to say. In fact, I feel as though God had been preparing me for that moment for the past year. That, however, still didn't make the phone call and the news she had to share any easier to hear. The words echo in my head, "Shan. It's your dad. He had a heart attack and passed away."

As unexpected as it may have seemed, I knew it was coming sooner rather than later (although you never truly know what "sooner" really means until your face to face with it). Unless you were close to the family, you would have never known the amount of pain my dad was in. (He never wanted to make a big deal about his situation).  I recently asked him what part of his body hurts. His answer astounded me - "everything from my knee up is in constant pain." Those words tore at my heart. As a child, you think your parents are indestructible. To think that my dad was hurting all of the time, broke my heart.

After I got off the phone with my mom that morning, all I could do was cry in Keith's arms as he held me and we prayed. We lifted praises to our heavenly Father that my earthly Father was no longer in pain and he was now hanging out with Jesus! We prayed comfort over our family, for we knew that the coming days, weeks, months, and years were going to be challenging and emotional.

I miss my dad every day and often have to stop myself from dialing his cell phone number to talk about the latest sports gossip or share in the joy of something new that Connor has done. But, my faith in the Lord brings me through those tough times. I can do nothing but praise my Savior - for allowing me to have my father here on earth as long as I did (he was able to walk me down the aisle and see my first born child), for allowing my mother to have her best friend by her side for the past 32 years, for all the many blessings I experienced with my dad, for my dad not being in pain anymore, and most importantly that I will get to see him again one day!

My dad. My hero. My first love.