My hero

Today is Memorial Day, the day my Dad died seven years ago. I have thought a lot about him the past few weeks and have often felt his presence near.

Dad died of a heart attack but I can remember when he was diagnosed with prostate cancer in 2005, shortly after he and Mom returned from their mission in England. I have wondered what he felt at that time. I can’t remember much about what he endured during that experience because we had just moved to North Carolina. 

My parents purchased our home in American Fork since they had sold their home in Oregon before leaving on their mission. I am not sure it was the ideal home or location for them, but I think they saw it as an opportunity to help us and they were not ready to start house shopping. 

I remember being at that home in American Fork when I came back to see him. I believe it was in October for his birthday and all of the 10 kids wanted to surprise him with a visit. I was pregnant with Kate and my Dad had already undergone radiation and therapies of several kinds. He was completely depleted and struggling with some of the side effects of those treatments. My sister Kim was there, and one night he got up to go to the bathroom and fell in the hallway. Kim was trying to find a way to help pick him up. My big, strong Dad was slouched in the corner helpless. I had never seen him like that. I wish I had been there for him and known how to help and learned what he did to get through cancer. 

My friend reminded me that sometimes “rock-bottom will teach you lessons mountain-tops never could." Today, I am grateful for my Dad who had the faith to walk through some difficult rock-bottoms so he could feel the blessings that wait for us on the other side. I love you, Daddy. Thanks for being my hero and staying beside me now when I really need you.