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I didn't entirely know my dad was sick. I knew he was slower, thinner, seemingly... ill. But not sick. Never once did the thought of my father dying cross my mind. Although I didn't fully understand death either. The failed open-heart surgery gave him an infection, one that he could not get rid of. He was put onto more treatments and it became less that I saw of him.

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Flash forward almost a decade later and I still am learning life without dad. I have learned how to handle loss, rejection, change in unimaginable ways, sadness, faith, and most importantly, to never take your loved ones for granted. Although I was just a child and nothing was my fault, I took him for granted. Kiss your loved ones, no matter how wet and sloppy or prickly their kisses are, love them; embrace them, because you never know when it will be your last time. All in all, buy them a dang chocolate milkshake!

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When it was time to go back to school, my teacher Mrs. Koenig asked me to stand in front of the class and tell them where I was the last two weeks. I felt uncomfortable and confused as to why I had to do that, but I did. I stood in front of my fellow third-grade friends and told them that my dad died.

I then found out that my classmates were already informed and they had gifts for me. My friend Haley got me giant Hershey bar and a card. She hugged me so tightly, similar to the hugs I gave my dad, and she apologized for my loss; I didn't understand what she was sorry for.

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She tells us that our father passed away during the night, peacefully in his sleep. To me, that didn't sound so peaceful, but I didn't cry. I accepted it but I didn't shed a tear. I still expected to see him next Sunday anyway. I thought, "Ok, why are you crying, what does that even mean?" Later that day, my mom brought me to my favorite store, Michaels. I love to craft and paint. She bought me any and every coloring supply I wanted and I just thought it was my lucky day!

We then went to Olive Garden and we sat in a booth. She looked at us with piercing eyes and asked us to talk about how we were feeling. I didn't know how I was feeling besides the fact I was told my father passed away last night, that made me feel weird.

For the next two weeks, I stayed home from school. During those lonely weeks of no friends and most importantly no sleepovers, we went to my dad's funeral. We're Irish and my father loved the bagpipes. I watched my brothers lift my father's casket into the church where we would say our final goodbyes. The sound of bagpipes still haunts me to this day.

To enlighten the rough crowd, I poked at my dad's forehead. Sounds morally wrong now, but I did it. I laughed and told everyone to feel his forehead because he felt so cold. Like an ice cube I recall. My sister Danielle would yell at me and tell me it wasn't funny, but everyone else thought so. Now that I think back, they probably only laughed because they felt bad for me. We filled his casket with memories, pictures, coins, a Cub's hat, and other things he collected.

This is when I understand that there would be no more sleepovers and Pizza Hut with dad.

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I started third grade at Washington Elementary school and I was beyond thrilled to see my friends again. I really wanted to have more sleepovers and eat more Pizza Hut because the time I would spend with my dad in that way was stripped away. I wondered when I was going to see dad again.

It was until we were summoned by my sister Ellissa to meet at a hospital in Chicago. My dad looked bruised, puffy, full. His skin looked purple and they definitely loaded him with fluids; he was unrecognizable. He had a tube down his throat and couldn't speak, although he was consciously awake and looking down at me. He looked even more like a mess than normal. I felt really scared, so scared that I didn't even want to touch his hands. My mom assured me that I could hold his hand but I felt extremely uncomfortable; more uncomfortable than a nine-year-old should ever feel. I found the courage to reach and hold onto his index finger and meet his eyes' gaze.
Ellissa told us she was very good at reading lips and that she would tell us what he was saying.

He mouthed, "I love you."

That would be the last time I would see my father alive.

One morning in March, my mother opened the door to my neon green and pink bedroom, and she sat next to me while I was asleep. She shakes me awake and I sit up to look at my sister Danielle looking uneasy in the bed across from me. My mother hangs up her phone call and tells Danielle to come to sit next to me.

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My dad had multiple surgeries in order to fix his health, most of which never worked. He had open heart surgery and in the process of that surgery, the robots that were working on him shut down. This surgery made his situation a lot worse, and his health continued to decline.

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We never went through the drive-through at McDonald's because that meant dad had less time with us. As soon as we arrived at McDonald's, I would leap from the Volkswagen and run to be the first person inside; because something inside of me told me I had to be. I swung that door open like I ran the place and I immediately went to the lines (of course making a pit-stop by the toy display). Every single Sunday I would ask dad, "Can I please have a chocolate milkshake like you do?" He always said no. I didn't understand why then, and I still don't understand why now. My dad was diabetic but he always ordered himself a chocolate milkshake. Rarely would I get a sip from that chocolate milkshake. My sister Danielle got a kid's meal and I had everything she had because I wanted to be her. So, I sat joyfully with my kid's meal and ate my breakfast although the joy would quickly be taken away when it was time to go back home. This means I won't see dad for another full week.

When my dad's health continued to decline, my oldest brother Trevor moved in with him. Trevor took over the father figuring and began taking Danielle and I out more often because my dad couldn't do it as much. So Sunday breakfast turned into Saturday sleepovers and we would spend the night with them. My dad would sit on the couch with a cigarette in his mouth and the Cubs game would be on. His glasses were tilted, nearly falling off his face but I think he liked it like that or maybe he didn't have the energy to fix it every few minutes. Trevor would play Wii with us and order PizzaHut. I looked forward to these sleepovers because it meant I got more time with them.

My other sister, Ellissa would also come by. I looked up to her so much; I still do. She was constantly filming us and taking photographs so my dad could have them. Sometimes I would push her away and tell her I didn't want my picture taken solely because I was too focused on my chocolate pudding.

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The time is nine a.m. I open my eyes to my brightly painted neon green and pink room. Slowly but surely I crawl out of my zebra-patterned comforter and I make my way to the kitchen... My eyes feel heavy as I have a solid ten hours of sleep in me however when I finally meet the kitchen tiles, I ask my mother when dad will be here to get us. Every Sunday morning my dad picks us up and brings us out for breakfast. It wasn't just any breakfast, it was McDonald's breakfast. Every few minutes I will peak through the middle window of my front door in hopes I will see my dad's red Volkswagen pull in front of our house. My hair would still be a mess and my bangs would make it hard for me to see clearly. I was never a morning person and I had a difficult time waking up but that didn't matter on Sundays. As soon as the Volkswagen was parked out front, I shouted, "Danielle, dad is here!" I slip on my light-up Cinderella shoes paired with my furry vest. I pull the front door open and nearly trip although quickly I would find my composure and run outside. Dad always forgot to unlock the car until we pulled on the handle. Immediately my sister and I would hug his frail body but as soon as he wanted a kiss we would turn away. My father gave sloppy-cold kisses and we despised them. To add, he always had a prickly mustache and it triggered my sneezes. Off to the Carol Stream McDonalds, we would go.