The date is May 13th, 2013. Hospital staff and family members have briefly departed my father’s room, leaving me with a few rare minutes alone with him. Hours before, we were informed tonight will be the last time he will ever see a Prince Edward Island sunset.

He hasn’t been responsive since we received the news. Sitting there, stunned by how quickly this nightmare happened, I look at him for a few minutes. Physically, he did not resemble the great man who raised me. But as I reach for his hand, I can feel his warm presence once again.



“Dad, I want to thank you for being an amazing father to myself, Nick and Becca and a great husband to Suzanne,” I told him. “I’m going to think about you every day for the rest of my life, and I love you more than anything in this world.”

At that moment he suddenly showed life again, evidenced by a slight squeeze of my hand. He awoke, briefly, and glanced at me hovering over his bed. “I love you too,” he faintly said. He closed his eyes and drifted away immediately after. He never opened them or said a word again before passing away in the early hours of May 14th. I haven’t been the same person since.

Grief has been a huge part of my life for the last three years. It’s normal to grieve, because after all, everyone has to go at some point. We’re not guaranteed anything. But I’ve learned a lot about this subject since then, and I know my personal experience can help others struggling to cope with the loss of a loved one.



I walked around in a fog for that first year. I was existing, but I wasn’t living. The sting of suddenly losing my father crushed me so much I can’t properly put the feeling into words. I cried every day. I cried on Father’s Day. I cried on his birthday. I cried on Christmas, especially when I was trudging through snow that was up to my waist at the graveyard just to get to his tombstone.

I felt like I was robbed. “Sixty-one is too young to die,” I would think. “This is so unfair.” Considering I’m nine years younger than my sister and 10 years younger than my brother, it felt like I should have been given more time with him. My suffering impacted just about every facet of my life, namely school, work, friendships, relationships and my overall happiness.



Here’s the thing I learned as time went on: the effect of death is a terrible one, but it helps you realize how important it is to cherish the relationships you have with those around you — especially loved ones. People use the term “Life’s too short” all the time, but it really is true. Joni Mitchell was right: you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone.

Within the last few years a lot of people around me have been forced to deal with loss. A good friend and mentor of mine tragically passed away, while another friend who has four brothers and sisters recently lost her father. One of my closest buddies had to bury his brother who was even younger than him.



I think about their families. I think about how I felt, and I’m able to put myself in their position. I reach out to offer support and tell them I’m here to talk if they ever want a shoulder to cry on, because when people did that for me it meant everything. I’d like to especially thank my mother, stepmother, stepfather, brother, sister, Sandra and Kyle for going the extra mile when I was at my lowest. I’ll never be able to properly explain how much you all have helped me get through this.



If you know someone who’s having grief issues, make an effort to talk to them about it and tell them you’re there if they ever need it. Most people have a hard time approaching the topic of death because they’re scared they’ll upset the person who’s struggling, but the truth is that person will more than likely have no problem talking about it. It helps to get things in the open.



When my dad passed away it left a gigantic hole in my heart. I’m 26 now, and I realize more and more every day how alike we are. When I look in the mirror, I see him. When I look at my nephew Michael, I see him. When I’m on the baseball field I feel him there with me, swinging the bat and running the bases like I’m 10 years old again.

Time helps the healing process, and my mantra has always been that even though it will never be easy to live without a loved one, it does get easier. Trust me. At the end of the day, love always shines through.



I love you, Dad. I’ll continue to make you proud. Until we meet again, I’ll keep you in my heart.