When I was six years old, my father passed away. I don't really talk about it that much, but it's not because I don't miss my dad. I miss him every single day of my life. I miss him when I'm at school, I miss him when I'm alone, and I miss him when I'm lying in bed at night. The pain of losing a parent never truly goes away, and I wish I knew that before my dad died. Of course, there really is no way to prepare a six year old for that fate, especially when the death happens so suddenly and unexpectedly. My dad was my whole world, and him and I did everything together. I have very vivid memories of us watching movies together at night with my older brother, walking to the convenience store down the street to get a chocolate bar, and me going to work with him whenever I could. In the short six years that I was with him, I learned something that he might not have intended to teach me: always be brave.

My dad never actually said those words to me, but I was able to pick them up from the way he acted. He always seemed to treat everyone with such a positive manor, and no matter what he did, he was always the bravest man to me. I've been able to use that lesson in my everyday life when it comes to any sadness I feel about my father's death. Right after he died, my mom told me that it's okay to cry and that I shouldn't be afraid to.

Some people might wonder, "why would you be afraid to cry?" and the reason is because when you lose someone that is incredibly important to you, you don't want to believe it. Crying almost seems like it would be accepting the fact that that person is gone, and that once you cry, that pain goes away. It is, of course, not true that the pain goes away just like that. But, as a six year old, I didn't really know what to expect. Looking back at it now, it almost seems like the same thing as when someone is about to go into battle: do I stand and fight, or do I turn back. I chose to stand and fight. I knew that even though my whole world had just been shattered, my dad would not want me to live the rest of my life in sadness.

My dad's lesson in bravery really seems to have paved the way to the rest of my life. I have had several people ask me, "how are you not seriously messed up?" The truth is, I don't really know why. When I was actually going through all of that, I didn't really feel very brave. I felt helpless because there was simply nothing I could do to bring my father back. Now, looking back on it I realize that I could have gone down the path of drugs and alcohol to make myself feel better, but I didn't. I could've decided that the sadness was too much for me to handle, but I didn't. In my opinion, the whole reason why I didn't do those things was because my dad showed me how to be brave. Bravery doesn't have to be fighting in a war or standing up to a bully, it can mean deciding to not give up when all the odds are against you.