Eight years ago today, I woke up to the biggest living nightmare I’ve walked. I thought my husband was having a nightmare as I woke to his irregular breathing, but it turned out to be a massive heart attack caused by an underlying condition we had no idea was there.
The day before, life had been blissfully ordinary. We were in the Keys on his work trip and then driving home along the coast as we reminisced, he made work calls and we stopped for lunch at a small restaurant where we’d dated all the way back in high school.
On June 17, life forever changed for 8 of us. I kissed Dan for the last time, slipped off his wedding band and memorized every feature of the face I’d loved since I was a girl of 16.
Our seven kids lost an incredible father that day. Fathers provide security for their families and life felt fragile and thin without him. We’ve missed his strong hands clapping the boys’ backs and slipped around his girls’ fingers. We’ve missed hearing him come in the back door after work; his easy smile; his steady, sunny take on life; his godly leadership and mentoring.
Eight years is both a long time and so short. I’ve learned so much. I’m a different girl than I was 8 years ago.