The tragedy of my family happened in November of 2005. As I watched my father leave us, I wondered if there was something I could do.

Around ten o’clock in the morning, he walked in, his oxygen level down to 80%. Turning blue all over, organs shutting down, stumbling, too weak to walk, they rushed him into the emergency room. Around two o’clock in the after noon, with the family in the room, he stopped breathing, so he was finally put on a venalator around three o’clock. I watched him start breathing again, and all I could think was, “everything is going to be okay, and my whole family was happy.” Just when I start to think, one more thing goes wrong.

Dressed in scrubs, only twelve hours after he arrived, the doctors looked at my step-mom, my grandparents, my uncle, and my pastor and told them some news. The guy in the scrubs said, “He has faded fast and the moment that happened earlier happened three more times. The staff knows how hard this is on your family, but you have to understand that we are doing all that we can.” My brother and I stood there wondering what is happening, wondering what the gentleman is saying, but when everyone dropped down, crying, praying, and we knew that something had gone wrong. Ten minutes later, my grandfather came up to my brother and I and said, “your father isn’t going to make it through the night. There is no hope.” I dropped to the floor crying, not knowing what to do. They told me to take another look at him, and as I stood there, I thought, he was my hero, how could I go through something so tragic, memories flashed through my head. I never really will understand.

I did what the doctor said, and just stood there, I stared at the man I loved most, and who loved me back. I looked at my step-mom and said, “Only the doctors think that there is no hope, but I know that my daddy is strong, and can make it through this. God will not let him go like this, but our family can stay strong and we can make it. Just trust in him, and he will make this wonderful miracle happen for us.” She didn’t say anything back; she just stood there and nodded. She told me later, that I was right, and that she will tell the family what I said and that she was proud of me.

That night once everyone had dozed off for a couple of minutes, my brother and I just sat in a chair and talked. We cried and laughed at all the memories that we have had with my dad, and just prayed together. This wonderful moment with my brother has led us into a great and wonderful relationship with one another. And within the next morning, we knew that we would have some better news. Not that our hero had died.

The very next morning, the doctor came in. My step-mom looked at him and with tear stained cheeks, she said, “What happened sir?” He shook his head and told her, “Your husband is very strong, and made it through the night. He is still in very bad shape and needs help breathing, but he is still alive.” She said thank you to him, and he let us go visit him.

My father didn’t look any better, but some how I knew in a couple of weeks that he would. As we stood there looking at him, the heart monitor stopped beeping. All of a sudden the doctors were rushing us out again. The moment that had happened, just a day ago, was happening again. I thought to myself, “Why does this have to happen, why is he the one who has to go through this”? Right after I prayed to god, I got a sudden urge to get up and tell everyone that he was going to be okay. Once I did that, I felt better, until 2 hours later I found out that it happened two more times.

The family stayed strong through all of it. When I felt like giving up, I knew I couldn’t, someone had to be strong for everyone, so I felt like it was me. My sister was only four years old, and she needed someone to play with. I tried to play and keep my mind, and hers, off of the events. She didn’t want to do anything, but draw pictures for my dad. As bad as it hurt, I stayed strong and colored with the one that didn’t understand; the one that needed people to be there the most, the youngest of all, and probably the strongest of all.

The days after that went quite steady. My daddy gradually got better, and about two more weeks, he was out of the hospital. He went back in the hospital about six months after, with a mini stroke. They thought he was paralyzed on his left side, but he stayed strong through that, and recovered in a month long period. Now he is better than ever. My dad is on diets now, and working out with the family. He is the best thing in the world, and I don’t know what I would have done if I would have lost him the night of the terrible tragedy!