Thanks Dad

On Father’s Day, we are proud to celebrate all of the amazing father figures in Kodiaks Country and beyond, including those who are no longer with us. For Kodiaks men's volleyball coach Greg Gibos, it's a time to reflect on the special bond he shared with his dad, Richard. 

From the sacrifices Richard made for his family, to how he was present to celebrate every family moment, to the struggles of dealing with a cancer diagnosis and ultimately dealing with an unimaginable loss, Greg shares his story in hopes that it connects with those who need it.

Thank you Greg, for capturing your father’s amazing spirit and sharing this story with us.

Guest article written by Greg Gibos, Lethbridge College Kodiaks Men’s Volleyball Head Coach and Lethbridge College Career and Academic Advisor.

Thanks Dad. Thanks Old Man. Thanks Richard.

As we reflect on Father’s Day, I don’t think we say this often enough to that father figure in our lives. I was extremely privileged to have someone like my father in my life growing up and I’m hoping this does his memory justice for the incredible person he was. To others, his name was Richard Brazzoni, but to me he was my rock, best friend, my dad and major inspirational piece to so many key milestones in my life.

I think growing up we all see our dad as a superhero. They seem to always be there, whether it be a flat tire, sporting event, or a talk about a heartbreak to save the day. I was no different. I idolized my dad and the way he treated other people. I grew up in the small community of the Crowsnest Pass, and my dad was always affectionately known as Mister B. My dad was known for always being there for another person, especially his kids. Growing up, he truly shaped me as he selflessly served others and of course his family. My father worked his way up as an electrician at the nearby coal mine, which was often shift work, an hour commute each way. When he had a family he recognized this wasn’t how he wanted to live, and took a much lower paying job at our hospital to be closer to his family. I know there were days that frustrated him, but getting to spend additional time at home with his family would make up for the loss in salary each day. My dad was such a loving person. One of his favorite times of year was when the wildflowers would grow on our family acreage. Even though nature had put these flowers there, my dad beamed with pride and took the moment to appreciate something so simple. It was his love and appreciation of the little things that made me more aware of my surroundings every day. It’s more than okay to stop and smell the flowers sometimes.

Sports were such a tremendous part of my life, and I owe this to the influence of my dad. We spent countless hours driving to practices, competitions and camps across the provinces. One of the biggest things that my dad provided me was his presence. I can remember spending nights in the rain, heat and wind playing catch in the backyard as I tried to perfect some new goofball pitch I thought would work in a game. He never said no to supporting me, and he always allowed me to chase whatever athletic dreams I had. This included my grade nine year where I decided to play football, hockey, volleyball, basketball, badminton, baseball, track and field, cross country and curling. However, what often stood out to me was how he stood up for others in our community. A normal hockey trip wasn’t just the two of us, as he’d offer rides to any kids whose parents couldn’t drive them to the games. This is when I knew my dad was different. I NEVER needed a ride. I was always amazed at his kindness towards others when it came to hotels, meals and being present for them as well.

The Team Manager

Another memory of him stood out when he took on the role of team manager. As a youth I didn’t understand what he was doing until he explained it to me when I was older. A few times, players on our hockey team would show up with jerseys that were wrinkled, not clean, and missing their name plate on the back. My dad wanted every kid to have a memorable sporting experience, so he would collect all the jerseys after each hockey game to ensure there was a sparkling clean jersey hanging in the dressing room when they showed up game day. In the hotel room for away tournaments, I would watch him sew and patch jerseys that may have received an imperfection during the game. He’d be in the hotel laundry room well after I was asleep, and the jerseys would be hung in our room when I woke up in the morning. I can distinctly remember an exceptionally busy tournament where we played eight games over three days and him drying jerseys by hanging them outside his truck to dry in the sun outside the arena.

I honestly didn’t give many of these actions much thought until he passed away and my social media flooded with messages explaining how much my dad meant to them growing up, how they were so appreciative of the support he gave them each day. Someone can truly make a difference in a large group of people through selfless actions.

The Perfect Game

Looking back on it, I don’t often remember if we won the tournament or who we played, but I can tell you how my dad made me feel each day. He was always present. He could be seen pacing at the top of the hockey rink, behind the fence in centerfield and behind the baseline of every competition. He wasn’t one to socialize - he wanted to enjoy the competition and the game.

One of my biggest regrets was not appreciating how much joy he took from watching me compete each day. I remember playing American Legion Baseball when I was 17. For me, this meant an hour drive to practice each day, and most of our opponents were five hours away. When I say my dad never missed a game, I mean he NEVER missed a game. As a 17-year-old looking for independence it got to a point of pride and embarrassment for me.

We had been rained out earlier in the year while playing in Great Falls, Montana and we had to travel there for a quick double header during a random Wednesday in July. I remember my dad negotiating on the phone trying to get the time off work so he could drive the five hours to watch us play. Then the worst thing happened… I blew up. I screamed for my independence and told him I didn’t want him there. I could see the hurt in his face, and knew I made a mistake but was too stubborn to admit it. He accepted my decision and decided to stay home for the game as we had team travel arrangements. I knew I was going to be pitching the first game of the double header, and already had a pit in my stomach as we departed early in the morning. Of course, he was there to send me off and wish me the best of luck in the games today. What I thought would be just another start, turned into something special. I had really good stuff on that day and before I knew it, I was six outs away from pitching a perfect game. Teammates started ignoring me in the dugout, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted my dad to see this. The game ended on a quiet fly ball to our left fielder and we celebrated my accomplishment as a team. A perfect game.

Now, this was before the days of cell phones… so I had a five hour drive home to think about how I was going to tell my dad... that he missed my only ever perfect game. Of course, he waiting to pick me up from the bus and asked how the games went. I broke down. I apologized vehemently and he couldn’t understand why. I told him the story of the perfect game, and he just stared blankly as we drove the remainder of the way home. From that point on – I made sure to include my dad in every single one of my sporting events. So, athletes that are reading this, make sure to always welcome your parent to your sporting event, and heck, even thank them for coming after the game.

The Chinchilla

Throughout the course of the years, my dad continued to shine as a selfless member of our community. He coached, he gave back, and he continued to support each athlete. My dad had a soft spot for animals but would never get one for himself. Over the years, my sister would tempt him with rescue dogs because she knew how much joy they would bring him. In my grade 12 year we attended a cross-country running meet in Medicine Hat. (You can get your jokes out of the way now). On the final day of the competition we had a break between events as the younger runners started the day. We walked to the local mall, which happened to have a pet store. Being the wise young men that a few of my friends and I were, we decided to buy a new school mascot, which was a chinchilla, affectionately known as Humphrey.  

Now most parents would be livid when their kid shows up with a random rodent after a weekend, however my dad just laughed and said he’d be back in a couple hours. After some tense time waiting for him to return, he came with a beautifully built three-story chinchilla cage equipped with ramps, a wheel and other amenities. He truly cared about everything else more than himself. Once I left for University in Edmonton, my dad was happy to inherit the chinchilla and I’d often get pictures of the chinchilla curled up under a heat lamp snacking on a peanut. He was such a kind soul.

Coaching

As time grew on, I began to coach volleyball. My first experience was at a high school in Edmonton while attending university. I’ll be honest, I had no idea what I was doing – but I knew how to treat people because of the way my dad treated others. This really allowed my dad to stay connected in my life as I invited him to tournaments and we had another excuse to get together around sport.

He came to my first ever away tournament driving to Red Deer to see us compete and made some friends in the crowd. He even stood up and broke up a fight after a racist remark was made to one of our athlete’s parents in the school gym. He just wanted the family to enjoy watching their kids compete as much as he did. My dad attended so many Alberta Volleyball Premiers, Nationals and high school events that he no longer got asked “so which one is your kid?” They always knew he was there to support his son, who was chasing a dream and sharing his passion for sport with others along the way.

To this day, I cherish this time more than anything. Being old enough to appreciate his support really evoked positive emotions in me daily. I really don’t know how much he enjoyed watching U13 girls volleyball, but he sure made me feel special each time he was there. My dad has seen my athletes lift championship banners, win home tournaments, and celebrate their senior nights. He often made cards to keep in his pocket so he could remember each of their names, and who their parents were so he wouldn’t make a mistake when cheering on another athlete. He would always politely say hello and congratulate them on a successful performance that day. He always wanted to make others feel better about themselves.

Joining the Kodiaks

Richard was a staple at Kodiaks home games, always sitting in the same spot.

My dad provided me something that I think everyone needs in life. He provided me with an unwavering belief that I could accomplish anything I wanted. His birthday cards often had a message such as “I’m so proud of you” or “I can’t wait to see what you accomplish this year.” No matter what crazy scheme or idea I had, he would support it. I had been on various teaching contacts, substitute teaching and was finally making headway in my teaching career.

I remember the day both the men’s and women’s volleyball jobs got posted at Lethbridge College. Wow, becoming a college volleyball coach, that’s not something I ever thought I would do. I had been coaching the senior girls at Lethbridge Collegiate Institute for three years, had built a program and was extremely connected to the athletes there. I mean, they had helped me pick out an engagement ring for my wife. Those athletes there were truly special, and I knew big things were on the horizon for that group. I thought, “well, what the heck?” I’d kick myself if I don’t apply for the women’s job. My teaching contract was still up in the air for September, so I felt comfortable to apply and see what would happen.

After interviews and the hiring process I nervously waited by my phone for a few days. I remember the conversation so vividly. Our Manager of Athletics said, “hey coach.”

I was dead silent.

“Oh, I hope I didn’t spoil the surprise,” he said. “We’d like to offer you the position to be our men’s volleyball coach at Lethbridge College.”

Shocked to receive an offer to coach the men, I asked for a little time to make my decision. I had been away from the men’s game for three years and I was nervous I had lost my connection to the athletes in the community. I was worried to leave my potential full time teaching job as coaching was not enough money to survive alone. So, I did what we all do when tasked with a difficult decision - I called my dad.

My dad made it really simple. He said, “is coaching at the college something you really want to do?” Of course, I said yes. “Well, I worked a job I didn’t fully enjoy to give you the opportunity to chase a dream if you wanted. If money and a full-time job is a concern, I can help you. But I really don’t want you to miss out on something that could turn in to your dream job.”

That was all the confirmation I needed. I called and accepted the job right after hanging up the phone with my dad. I’ll always picture the tears in his eyes when I looked in the crowd for my first home game, and the anthem was playing. All those years of hard work and dedication paying off and getting to experience sport at the highest level.

When I was teaching, coaching and subbing, I also did another spur the of the moment thing. I got a puppy. Now those of you who coach know how much time you spend away. However, I had a Richard as well. I’d drive out to the Pass to pick my dog, Geno, and he wouldn’t want to get back in the truck with my wife and I. Geno absolutely loved Richard. They’d share chicken soup, hot dogs and even most of the bed together. He never said to no to dog sitting for a weekend, and the two had an inseparable bond.

Dogs are always the best judge of character. Those two were stuck like glue, and Geno would often be whining with 50km left on our drives to Richard’s House for the weekend. My dad would often joke that he needed to die before Geno because he couldn’t stand to see him go. My dad was always the gentlest soul, and cared so much for everything.

When everything changed

In March 2018, my world was rocked. My mom and sister had gone to Australia, where my sister was previously a wildfire expert, to go adventuring together. My dad of course was watching my sister’s dogs for the two-week trip, which made him miss attending our first ever provincial tournament win.

I remember getting a call shortly after my mom returned home asking if I had spoken to dad much over their holidays. We had talked – but nothing major. The next day my mom brought my dad to the hospital as she feared he was weak and struggling with fatigue. How fitting that he was feeling this way for a couple months but didn’t want to ruin my sister’s trip by not being able to watch the dogs while everyone was away. My mom only diagnosed this as he has some laundry undone, and his usually perfect yard was not fully shoveled, so something must be wrong. My dad was admitted immediately as we waited anxiously for a diagnosis. My dad, convinced he was just getting older and was starting to slow down, gave us the optimistic report and kept us positive through the process. My mom called me, and I heard the words that none of us ever want to hear.

Cancer.

Once I heard this, my brain shut off. What was happening? Dad’s a superhero. I still call him for every little thing, in fact we just did some landscaping at our house. My mind switched from “he’s going to get through this” to “wow, he might not get through this.”

After a week of tests, he was diagnosed with Myelodysplastic syndrome (MDS). We had to wait for their scoring system to know the severity but given his blood levels, we knew that he was going to be classified in the higher categories.

Next, I did what most of us do in this situation. I went to the Google doctor and the rabbit hole of self-diagnosis. The more and more I read, the worse I began to feel. I wasn’t looking at decades with my dad, but I’d be lucky to get a few more good years. Unfortunately, several blood cancers aren’t curable with chemotherapy, but you can slow down their effects. I think this was the hardest part for both us. We were both up for a fight – but hearing that there was no solution or way of winning the battle was disheartening. With the realization setting in, I was determined to keep beating the positive drum and looking for solutions. I made frequent visits back home and truly started to appreciate our time together.

My dad fought for 18 months, which was right in line with the averages given by several medical professionals. These 18 months were truly the most special time for my dad and I. My dad would travel to Lethbridge for chemo seven days a month. He didn’t want to be a nuisance to our household so he would only stay for two nights a week and then return to the Crowsnest Pass in between. This is the time I truly treasure. My dad would come to practices, summer camps, softball games, beach sessions and really got to see what I did on a daily basis. Even given the situation he still beamed with joy as I ran a drill at practice or tried to give inspirational words to the youth at summer camps. He was getting chemo but you could still find him cracking jokes with the boys, shagging balls and having a positive influence on those around him.

This is when my dad and I had those real-life talks. Often in the car or at home we’d talk about our fears. What it meant to be a good father. We poured our hearts out about how much we meant to each other. He’d always apologize for putting me through this, which was so on brand for his personality. He never wanted to make me sad.  

I’m so thankful to have had this time to have these conversations, and they are the ones that I lean on during difficult times. I’m an emotional guy, and I know this is a direct result of the love my father poured into me each day. I was struggling with teaching off-campus and coaching full time. I decided that I wanted to try and gain employment at Lethbridge College in a full-time capacity so I could be on-campus all day and serve both the students and athletes to my best ability. I interviewed for a job as a Career and Academic Advisor in May 2018. One of the questions was “describe the most influential person in your life.” Well I couldn’t get through my answer without shedding tears explaining how much my dad meant to me, two months after being diagnosed with cancer. I know I spoke with passion and purpose during this interview, and played a part in the department hiring me. So again, it was dad to save the day.

Dad responded to chemo extremely well. Very few symptoms, and no impact on his day-to-day other than having to rely on others for the first time in his life. We had an amazing summer together and moved into the month of September. Although we weren’t quite ready, my wife and I decided that we wanted my dad to have a grandchild and started planning our family. My dad got to experience one of the most amazing rides for our volleyball program as we jumped out to a 20-0 start to the year and a #2 ranking in the entire country. Even though he was weak he’d come to practice, shag balls, and inspire me to be a better version of myself. Provincial championships that year were in Edmonton, and my dad insisted that he went. He moved chemo around so he could attend the championships. Again – just an incredible experience. Our program won its first ever medal and I got to hand my silver medal to my dad after our final match. We shared an emotional embrace. There’s a picture from our semi-final win that is in my office of him, hands in the air, absolutely ugly crying. He was so happy for that group of athletes to achieve something so special.

Shortly after provincials, I brought him on a recruiting trip to Calgary and he began to tell me that his body was not responding to the chemo as well as it had and that he would possibly have to begin blood transfusions. We spent the weekend together watching volleyball and just talking about life. When I returned home, my wife surprised me with a “world’s best dad” mug as we were going to expect a child in November.

Through the joy and excitement, one of my thoughts was hoping that my dad would make it. Of course, when I told him, we did what we always do - we cried. He was so happy for my joy, but deep down I know he was truly sad that he would not be around to see our child grow up. A few days after I told my dad, my mom called to let me know my sister was also expecting her first child in December. We would be having two grandchildren to celebrate. My dad stopped chemo shortly after this and his visits came less and less as he was able to get transfusions in the Crowsnest Pass. We had a great summer in 2019 spending time outdoors, laughing and looking forward to arrival of both grandchildren.

I don’t want to say we were blindsided, but his decline was very rapid. In July he had a short hospital visit as he had a nosebleed that wouldn’t stop. He had to undergo a painful nose packing procedure but returned home and got busy back in his garden. In my mind, there was no doubt that he would be there for Christmas, the birth of both grandkids, and then hopefully we could get him to Provincial Championships, which would be hosted by Lethbridge College for the first time.

In late August, his blood levels were low enough that they wanted to send him in the bigger, regional hospital as it appeared he had gotten a bit of a lung infection from his last hospital visit. I was scheduled to be in a softball tournament during the weekend, and he insisted that I still play and not worry about him in the hospital. I felt too much grief but wanted to let him feel like he won so I would skip out of the hospital for a few hours at a time so he thought I was playing in the tournament. He was in stable condition during the first few days of his hospitalization but was fighting a case of pneumonia. My sister came down to help boost morale, and I continued to go to work while dad was in a stable condition. Both my sister and I wanted to be surprised by the gender of our babies, but we thought my dad may like a distraction so we had a local bakery help us with cupcakes with frosting in the middle to reveal my wife and my baby’s gender. We found our August 26 that we were going to have a baby girl! I left the hospital that night in good spirits and was looking forward to positive news from the doctors the next day. I went in to work the morning of the 27.

Around 10 a.m. I received a call that I needed to get to the hospital immediately and to begin to prepare for the worst-case scenario. I was coaching Kodiak camps and we were in the busiest advising season, but I dropped everything to be with my dad. When I arrived at the hospital my dad had no machines plugged in, just a single IV in his arm. He had made the decision to no longer fight. I’ve always been an optimist, and somehow thought we could still get through this. We could have years, not months. Now I faced with the reality that it would be hours.

Over the course of his illness, I spent so many hours next to his bed. We talked about some of our favorite sports memories. Scoring the goal to win hockey zones in bantam, winning a U12 baseball championship, but mostly just about the fun times we had together on the road and the people we had affected in our lives. My sister also wanted my dad to know what the gender of her baby was, so she rushed to get an ultrasound in Lethbridge. The hospital staff filled gift bags full of blue glow sticks. When my dad opened his bag he said, “Orange? Oh boy looks like you are having an alien.” His comedy broke the mood in the room and made us all smile again a little.

My mom and sister left for dinner and I decided to stay. This was the hardest on both dad and I. We shared some more tearful moments as I held his hand.

My dad passed away early in the morning on August 28, 2019. In this moment, I lost my biggest fan, my inspiration, and someone who had provided me every opportunity to be successful in life. I don’t think I’ll ever replace the hole he left, but I work through it every day.

When I returned home, Geno was by my side. He knew. Dogs always know. We spent a few days in the Crowsnest Pass before the realization that life…kind of just starts moving again. I remember having an open try-out for the Kodiaks on September 3. Every athlete had reached out and knew how special of a bond I had with my father and urged me to take some time away. But to be honest, there was nowhere else my dad would want me to be than in the gym with the boys, and there was nowhere else I’d rather be at that time. Sports had such a profound impact on who were and our relationship, and I wanted to honor his memory by being there. I took the most solace in knowing that although my dad may be gone, his legacy, kindness and compassion has been spread in each athlete or student that’s interacted with me. I know that every athlete has the best pieces of my dad inside them, and that when they inspire the next generation of athletes, it’s because of the lessons he taught me. Every Kodiak will continue to carry his legacy and I know he will never be forgotten.

Learning to cope

I’d like to say it gets easier, and sometimes it does. However, sometimes there’s moments that you can still feel your breath get taken away. I remember sitting in my dad’s house the summer before he passed and he was telling me where various things were located - like keys for the shed, and how to winterize or turn on the electricity to parts of the home. I’d always tell him, “we aren’t having that conversation yet, you aren’t going anywhere.” After he passed away it took months to figure out how to get power to the garage door, as he had jimmied together a rig to run through a switch by the dryer in the basement. I’m sure he was looking down laughing at the electrician’s son unable to open the garage door. For months I couldn’t find the keys to his shop full of tools. Finally, when we were having a garage sale last summer I found them in an old coat that he was likely wearing a few days before he passed away. Now when I misplace my keys at home, I still get that pit in my stomach as I reach in to pocket to find that they were right where I last left them.

The first season without him was hard. I’d look in the crowd to the same seat that he watched 35 of my first 36 home games as head coach of the Kodiaks. He had missed a game to be with my sister on her birthday, begrudgingly missing a match up against the Rattlers. There was a sense of emptiness after each game because I missed the text on my phone of him breaking down our performance, of course saying how proud he was of me. There were several moments during our ACAC semi-final where I felt his presence as SAIT continued to miss serves by inches past the end line that his seat was parallel with. I know he was part of those tremendous crowds elbowing the person next to him saying that was HIS son down there as the coach.

However, my toughest moment came when our team was in Fredericton for the National Championship. We had a contingent of parents and family travel out with the boys to experience our first ever CCAA appearance. I know for certain my dad would have been on that plane, even though he hated flying, to experience a national championship. Both my assistant coach’s fathers made the trip out and I was feeling his loss more than ever. I wanted to share this joy with him and knew he would amplify the positive emotions we were experiencing while exploring the Bay of Fundy on the other side of the country.

The pandemic hit right in the middle of our championships. We had fans present for our quarterfinal, but after that, they were forced to the hotel lobby to watch us compete while watching screens. After losing our national quarterfinal we were able to win our second match against Holland College. The parent and family contingent rushed from the hotel lobby to meet us outside the rink where we were playing and formed a line to give each of the boys a high five and round of applause as they left the venue to mark such an incredible accomplishment. I already felt emotional and this sent me over the top. Seeing every athlete, and my assistant coaches celebrating with their parents after the match was a tipping point for me. I was so incredibly happy for each of them, but I had never missed my father more. I remember sneaking to the side of the line and going behind the venue and just dropping to my knees to cry. I knew how proud my dad would have been of each one of the athletes. I really just wanted to experience this with him. After a few moments I returned to join our team and I’m sure they just assumed that I was so happy that I had tears in my eyes. It wouldn’t be the first nor the last time that group would have seen me cry. Like I said, I have some of the best traits my dad did.

On November 15, 2019, my wife and I welcomed our daughter to the world. We wanted to recognize the impact her grandfather had, and provided her the name Allison Richelle Gibos, as Richelle is the female form of Richard. Her cousin was born in December and given the name Sullivan Rikkard to represent the same. I’ve often said the worst part of losing my dad was that Allison never got to meet him and see for herself how amazing of a man he was. I know he would have spoiled her rotten and been an amazing role model for her to follow. We will provide her stories and examples, but it still pains me she will never have met her Grandpa B. She was born with a very prominent “angel kiss,” so I like to think that they did meet somewhere along the way. I’m going to try every day to be the kind father to Allison that my dad was for me. It’s an incredibly high bar, but I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge.

Before being a father myself, I don’t think I truly understood how much love our parents have for their kids. During his final year, my dad still supported me by celebrating a dream job and career at Lethbridge College, watched our program win its first ever ACAC medal, got to hear he was going to be a grandpa, got to watch his son compete at Softball Nationals, spent time adventuring with sister and watching countless ACAC matches. He did these things because he found joy through supporting his family. This really hit me when I was cleaning out an old filing cabinet at his house after he had passed away. I found an old envelope and inside here were old newspaper clippings where I was mentioned in the story. There were old hockey programs with every score written in, programs from every high school tournament I coached at, ACAC standings printed off with handwritten notes showing who hadn’t played yet as he tried to project the final standings, and every little personal thing I had ever sent him. Sometimes it would be a magnet I found while traveling, or a picture I drew as a kid. He kept it all. Finding this really made me realize how much love you can have as a father for your children. I challenge those reading this to love something, as much as my dad loved his kids.

Lessons from dad

My dad taught me some extremely valuable life lessons. He taught me that it’s important to care about others more than you care about yourself. If you can do good in someone’s life, take the opportunity to do so. He taught me life is short and to chase those things that make you happy in life. That when one door closes another window opens. He taught me to chase joy, not money. But most importantly, he taught me how important it is to love others around you and celebrate their accomplishments. Do more for others than you are willing to do for yourself. Take someone along on vacation, drive them to hockey practice and amplify joy wherever you get a chance. We have the ability to positively impact so many others around us, and it’s a responsibility we should take pride in. Our goal should be there for others always (even if they don’t want us there sometime). Take the time to be there for one another. You’ll never regret it.

My dad taught someone that the most powerful thing you can provide someone is to believe in them. I try to empower and extend this belief to everyone around me in each capacity. Our role should be to allow others to become the best version of ourselves. We want to see challenges and hardships as opportunities to grow and step outside our comfort zone. I would say the most I evolved as a person was through the hardships of my father’s illness. I still have the last card he ever gave me. He got me a Father’s Day card and inside was a message written that says, “Greg, you are going to be a GREAT father.” I know because of his influence, love and joy, I can continue to provide this for my daughter, Allison. We already started the tradition of having a daddy/daughter day on his birthday where we will spend time doing activities together, eating lots of food, and most importantly just being there for each other.

This Father’s Day, spend some extra time with those you love. Tell them you appreciate them, and the contributions they’ve made towards your life. Instill the belief and empower someone. Truly put the needs of someone else above your own. My dad provided me an incredible gift, and I hope to continue to tell his story and do him proud. You can bet that in a few years, I’ll be the one pacing the sidelines of a youth soccer game, skipping an afternoon of work to attend a band recital, and being a set of ears for a late night conversation for those in my life.

Dad – thanks for allowing me to be the best version of myself. I promise to do the same for others.

Thanks for believing in me, I miss you every day.