Not the blood we carry in our body but the love we carry in our hearts.

Twenty-three years ago today my brother came in my room in the morning and said "Mom is at the hospital. Dad is in surgery. They have been there all night. Things don't look great. I have to go to work and grandma is on her way here." I was 13, had been home sick with the chicken pox for about a week and was trying to process everything my brother had just said. He left and went to work and I got up and tried to figure out what to do. I paced, tried to watch tv and waited for the phone to ring or my mom to get home.

Twenty-three years ago today, I lost my dad. I miss him. Not everyday like I use to, but a lot.

For 8 years he was my dad, the most important man in my life. He sat across from me at the dinner table, making sure I ate everything on my plate, asking me about my day, talking to me, my brother and my mom. For 8 years he raised us, loved us and became my dad. During those years he showed me that family is not the blood you carry in your body but the love you carry in your heart. For 8 years he gave me that lesson, a lesson I have spent twenty-three more years living, learning and practicing.

I sit today with my son, born from the love of my heart not the blood of my body wishing he could have met my dad. Wondering what my dad thinks of me....of him.....

Little man has a grandpa that loves him and that he loves. I have a wonderful step-father that demonstrates everyday that lesson my dad gave me when I was young, reinforcing that love is thicker than blood. I am forever grateful for the man that is my father today. But I still wonder what Vern Hewitt, my dad, would say to me...to my son if he could today. The memory of him still makes me smile, laugh and get teary all at once.

I miss you dad and I hope you are proud of me.

Ahh the 80's 

We are inside a tree