by Carolynn Vo

On September 23, 2001, my dad died from brain cancer. He was only forty-five. He left behind three wonderful children and one amazing wife. He was a caring brother, a loving husband, and a terrific father. He was more than a great man. He was superman but a bazillion times better. He loved my family and me unconditionally. Whatever my brothers and I wanted, he gave us. Our wish was his command. My dad was my first love, my best friend, and most importantly, my dad. He was my world.

When I was a little girl, he would carry me out of bed and take me to the restroom. He would wait for me to finish peeing and when I was done, he would flush the toilet for me. After flushing the toilet for me, my dad would then carry me to the sink and brush my teeth for me. I loved it when he would do it. He was very careful and made sure he did not hit my gums unlike my mom. My mom was a maniac when she brushed my teeth. It sucked when she did it.

I remember when my dad would shave. My little brother and I would be laying on the bed at night while my dad was shaving. My little brother, Bryant, would run up to my dad and my dad would make monster sounds to scare us. Bryant would scream and run back to the bed and we would hide under the blanket. Then it was my turn to approach the monster. I always had fun playing this game. On the days he wouldn't shave, I would be sad. It's been about eight years since I've played that game.

When my dad would pick me up from school, he would spend a dollar buying a drink and a snack for us to eat. On Tuesdays, he would take us to the McDonalds two minutes away and order us a Happy Meal. He would feed us Chicken McNuggets and we would joyfully run to the playground and slide down the spiraling slide. My mom said that he spoiled us too much. She said that if my dad were alive, I would have the most perfect life possible. I would ultimately be the All American Girl except for the fact that I'm Asian.

To this day, it's still hard to comprehend that he is gone. I don't want to believe it, but I have to. He was like the cherry on my ice cream sundae. My brothers, mom, cousins, and other relatives are like the gummy bears, chocolate chips, Oreos, and M&Ms mixed into my ice cream, but my dad was the cherry. He topped my world and made it perfect.

It's especially hard when people talk about their fathers. Sometimes they complain about how overbearing and overprotective their father is, but other times, they glorify them. I would do anything to be able to say how overbearing and overprotective my father was. But, I can't. I was young when he passed away. It's been almost seven years.

At times, I lay on my bed wondering who's going to walk me down the aisle when I get married or give me my first dance. The more I think about it, the more it hurts to accept the fact that he's gone. But I've come a long way. Baby steps.

I think the reason why it is so difficult for me to accept his death is because I don't talk about it enough. Yes, I talk about it over the phone or online, but I rarely talk about it in person, as in face to face with someone. I don't cry in front of people, but rather, at home when everyone is asleep. I hate being vulnerable and if I cry, I feel very vulnerable. I bottle up my emotions and I think that is why I tear up whenever I hear a story about someone's father. There is not a time when I don't think of my father when I hear a story about someone's family. There not one day that passes by when I don't think of him.

My mom told me that a parent's worst nightmare is to know that his/her child is going to die and to not be able to do anything about it. As a daughter, I do not know how it feels to lose a child, but I do know how it feels to lose a parent. It hurts. Just like when you quickly rip off your band-aid from a fresh wound. That's how much it hurts.

Wherever my dad is, I think he's proud of me. I think he's proud at how far I have come since the fourth grade. I've matured a lot and I have become more independent. I am donating more of myself to nonprofit organizations. I donated twelve inches of my beautiful brown hair to Locks of Love to a brave child battling cancer. I'm sure that's what my dad would have wanted me to do. To give more of myself to children who need assistance. That's what my dad did in Vietnam. That's what I'm going to do in America.

It's hard to not think about what would have happened if he had survived cancer. Would I be in private school? Would my brothers be more disciplined and more active? Would I be taller? It's even harder not to ask “What if” questions. What if my dad had taken a different kind of medicine? What if he didn't smoke? What if my dad still lived in Vietnam? What if I had been a better daughter? Would things be completely different?

Through all these “What would happen ...” and “What if ...” questions, I have come to a realization that I cannot dwell on the what ifs. There is no way those questions can be answered. What has happened, happened. There is no way we can change our past. It's like a scar. In the beginning, our wounds hurt, but as time progresses, our wounds become a scar. It doesn't hurt anymore, but the scar will always be there. It's permanent.

Because I cannot answer my what if questions, I realize that I must stop dwelling on what might have been and what could have been and focus on what I have now. I think that's what my dad would have wanted, for me to live in the present, not in the past or future. Now, I have my dad's nose, thick hair, and sad eyes. Now, I have an amazing family who loves me unconditionally.

Now, I have life. Now.