I did not fully understand the “Art of Loss” until my father passed away. I had been in Minnesota 10 days earlier to celebrate my parents 55th wedding anniversary, before traveling back home to Miami Beach. I was at work when I received a distressed phone call from my Mom; my father had suffered a cardiac arrest, and was in a coma at the hospital.

There was an awareness within me that one day I would hear words like this, but it’s not a situation you can truly be prepared for. When the reality sinks in that you will lose a hero of your childhood a tumultuous roller-coaster of emotions set in. My father was my courageous protector and one of my biggest fans for over 50 years; and life would never be the same without him.

My father was a formidable teacher. I grew up in a household where discipline, hard work, and family were valued. I watched my father start every day at 5:30am, brew coffee, and leave for work by 6:15am. We ate dinner together every night as a family, and the simple things in life were cherished. To this day, I associate the aromatic smell of coffee in the morning with my Dad.

My father loved all things nature. He grew up on a farm in Superior, Wisconsin. He was happiest when he was outside in the woods. He painted Minnesota as an adventure showing me its richness and helping me to discover its beauty for myself. We belonged to a camping club and traveled all over the US and Canada in our camper. We ate by the campfire together, met new families, and made new friends. When we were home, we spent weekends on the boat waterskiing and fishing, or camping at nearby lakes.

My father’s hobby was his lawn. It was meticulously cared for: fertilizing, watering, cutting, and mulching. His riding lawn mower was constantly in use – I can picture him with his cowboy boots, sunhat, and beer in hand. His lawn was always the most brilliant green, and created the perfect segue into the garden, which was and still is my Mother’s creative domain. My contribution were the steady flow of Home Depot gift cards which kept the entire scientific process in balance.

My father was also instrumental in my earliest fashion choice: Cowboy Boots. I lived in boots for several years with his proud stamp of approval. Cowboy boots were perfect for everything in Minnesota. They were perfect for bringing Gary down on the school playground when he was picking on my friend Lisa (to my Mother’s dismay and my Father’s slight smile.) I also learned they were perfect for climbing trees, which was my #1 expertise.

My father’s guiding hand was influential in so many ways. It’s there in every picture from my childhood – As I learned how to swim, catch fish, horseback ride, fall off a motorcycle, and drive a car. It was there to provide for us as we grew together as a family. My Dad held my hand and encouraged me through many of life’s lessons. I am grateful I was able to hold his hand in the same way many years later as an adult.

When you lose someone you love, they say a part of your soul leaves with them, and a part of their soul stays with you. I believe this to be true. I know the part of him that is with me is the inspiring spirit that encourages me to experience the world, while staying grounded in what is important. The part of me that resides with him is the acknowledgement that he made a life-changing impact on an adopted little girl who needed parents and a family – and for that, I am eternally grateful.

Dad, I am grateful I was able to be with you and hold your hand one last time. Letting go was the hardest thing I have ever done. I will never forget the moment when your heart stopped beating and my heart didn’t. It took my breath away. I miss you and I love you, Dad.