My Father

by David
(Shanghai)

My father died April 25, 2010, following a quick battle with brain cancer. Though his health had been declining as he got older, his death came very suddenly. He died within a month of his diagnosis. I have been very blessed in my life with faithful family and loyal friends. My father filled both of those roles like no one else.

As a father, he was kind, funny, full of stories, and had a sincere desire to invest into my life. No matter what, he embraced me with open arms, letting me know that he was always in my corner, while gently pushing me to not limit my dreams by fear or apathy. But he wasn't just my Dad, he was also my friend.

For all the places we camped together, all the football games we watched together, all the conversations we shared with each other, all the songs we sang together driving down the road, there was no other person I wanted to be with but him. Whether I was a young child or a grown man, I loved every moment with my Dad.

I am forever thankful to God that Bryce Withrow was my Father. And though I have been very blessed in my life with faithful family and loyal friends, the void left by his death can never be filled. For the rest of my life, I will miss my Father, I will miss my friend. I miss him already.

Comments for My Father

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Sep 06, 2010
Can't move on
by: Anonymous

He has been gone now for just over 4 months, but I can't seem to really move on. I'm relieved that the constant kind words from friends has ended, to be honest, but now everyone goes about life regularly, expecting the same from me. And yet, I just can't.

Random things make me think of him. I can't stop feeling guilty for not talking to him in greater depths towards the end. I was scared to cause him to stop fighting by talking too morbidly, but now I'd give anything to have those lost conversations.

I look at pictures and long to just have a conversation again and hear his voice. I am 31. Can I really live another 31 years, and then more possibly, without seeing again? Won't I begin to forget his voice? His stories? His jokes? And how can I ever make my future children love him like they should? I can't, because they'll never see him, touch his hand, look into his eyes, or hear his voice. It all feels hopeless.

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