Throughout my childhood, my father was a gardener. He planted everything under the sun, tulips, sunflowers, daisies, pansies, and roses. However, there was one flower that my father planted with me, the marigold, in front of our little grey house in Whitehall, NY. They came in all shapes, sizes, and colors. Some were big and some were small. Some were circular and some were oval. We would plant them around telephone poles and up and down the path that lead to our house. I remember the smell of the flowers. So crisp and clean, almost a warm feeling. I would just take a deep breath and I felt the warmness of the sweet smell that the flower exuded.

Besides the smell, I loved to plant flowers with my dad because we would have little silly conversations with each other. He would tell me all the time that he “loved me more than he loved Pepsi Cola” which would make me giggle. It was the best time that I had with my father because I had his undivided attention when we were planting Marigolds together. I was about eight at the time. My father was a smaller man, about 5 foot 4 who always wore jeans and a shirt that had a pocket on the left breast. The white shirts would usually have coffee stains because he thought it would be smart to take a coffee mug in the car without a lid on it. I would always laugh and say “oh Dad, really you spilled that coffee again?” And he would respond “Yep!,” knowing that it was a silly thing to do but he would do it again and again. It has been said that to make the same mistake knowingly is the definition of insanity but for me it was just my dad being very funny. But most importantly, I was happy.

During my senior year about 10 years later, I lived in Glens Falls, New York.  My life became very stressful and I was weighed down. I was trying to visit colleges, complete applications and financial aid forms, and on top of all of my other work for five college level courses. I was just surviving. February of 2014, I fell into a situational depression.  I was so unbelievably stressed out and I thought that nothing would ever change. The work consumed me and every aspect of my life. I woke up on a Monday to get ready for school and I just couldn't do it. I felt physically ill and as a result,  I had to stay home for that day and for the rest of the week. My back would be burning with pain and my head would be throbbing like I had been hit over the head with a rolling pin. Simply getting up to take a shower or even go to the bathroom was a challenge. Finally, I realized that I had to go to the doctor to figure out what was going on in which the doctor referred me to a psychologist named Donna.

After talking to Donna, things got better. I was able to go back to school without being too stressed out but on May 1,2014, my father passed away. He was a lung cancer patient and was very ill but the doctors had high hopes for his recovery. But on that specific day, on May 1, I matriculated to go to Holy Cross. I remember that day just like yesterday. I came home from school to study for my college economics midterm that I would be taking the next day. I was also in the middle of an argument with my boyfriend.

All of a sudden, while I was studying, I heard the phone ringing and  the caller id on the tv screen indicated that it was the Fort Edward Police Department. My father lived in Fort Edward, NY about 20 minutes away from Glens Falls, but I really didn't think anything of it. I just wanted to study for my economics midterm. My grandmother picked up the phone and police man asked if I lived with her and she said yes. He explained that he would call us when it was the “right time.” But, what is the right time? Why couldn't he just tell me what was going on right now? It was nerveracking because I just wanted to know what was wrong. I wanted to know the truth.

About 30 minutes later, there was a knock at the door. I looked out of the blinds that covered the window to see  a police officer dressed in full uniform. He looked like a “rookie” cop as my grandmother called them, very young, clean face, and full of ego. I got a little nervous. I was afraid. I was scared. I couldn't breathe. I opened the door and he said “hello I am Officer Burns and I am here from the Glens Falls Police Department.” My eyes widened and I huffed with disgust because no one ever called me by my full name, only my grandmother when she was angry with me. I  meekly answered, “yes.” He took of his police hat and said “Edward, your father, is missing.” I automatically interjected “He is a cancer patient… is he okay?!” He bowed his head like someone would do in church to pray and calmly said “Edward has passed away.” I heard those words and they were like small daggers that were being thrown into my heart. As he said the words, each one of them individually ripped a part of my heart from its ventricles. My knees dropped to the floor like a trap door releasing my emotion. I screamed “no no! it has to be a mistake. Please make it a mistake!” My grandmother grabbed my arms and said “You have to get off the floor.” The cop then said “ Ma'am you need to get up” I cried, pleaded, and screamed “I can't!” Tears were flowing down my face like rain during a thunderstorm. I remember the exact way that the floor smelled. The floor smelled like my cat's fur and the coming of sweet summer pollen and flowers, just like the marigolds smelled. I just stayed there.

   A couple weeks after my father passed away, I thought about his life. There were many terrifying, painful, and stressful moments that my father went through as a cancer patient and he always had a smile on his face. He was an active participant in life, no matter how hard it got. He was not a bystander. I realized that I couldn't live my life like I lived my senior year.I was in survival mode and I forgot how to live. I thought about the future and that college is a new experience with new people and opportunities.Life is too short to be consumed by the work that awaits you. There are days that I am stressed, overwhelmed, and uncertain about the future. The difference between my senior year and my beginning of college life is that I do not let it consume me. I do not survive, I live. I live my life exactly the way I lived my life when I was eight. I lived to be happy and to take life as it came, one step at a time.