After a long and stressful day of school, I knew that something was wrong when I pulled up to my house to see my grandparents car in the driveway. I called my mom to see what was going on. I never knew that one phone call could change my whole life completely. “Your dad is going to need open heart surgery immediately,” said my mom after my dad had been at doctor appointments all day. I could not hear anything that my mom was saying to me. My body was numb and I had no idea what to feel or think. It wasn’t until I got off the phone with my mom that I broke into tears. Tears soaked my pillow. Why me God? Why my Dad? What did he do to deserve this? What did my family and I do to deserve this? I continually questioned God on why bad things happen to good people, like my Dad.

My dad has always been someone that I have looked at as being strong and invincible. He is someone who is always bringing laughs and smiles to the people around him. The day that I heard my mother say those ten words made me realize that my dad had the ability to feel weakness. I never imagined that ten words could have such a big impact on me. When I walked into the Intensive Care Unit at West Jefferson Hospital to see my dad, he had a nasal cannula, a monitor on his heart, and tubes coming out of his body. This is the moment that I realized that my dad was at his lowest point. He looked frail and lifeless. Vulnerability took over me because it had taken over him. I wished that I could do something to take the pain away from him allowing him to suffer less. I blamed everything on God. He made my dad suffer. He made me suffer. He made my family suffer. Who else was there to blame? I finally began to realize that there was no one to blame in this situation. I was the one who had to stay strong for my dad because he was the “broken” one. The next days were a stressful couple of days that took a lot out of me. In and out of the hospital to see my dad suffering on a hospital bed was mentally draining. All I wanted was for my dad to be “normal” again.

As the days went on my dad's heart began to heal. Every day was a different day full of different struggles. His heart was healing and he was alive, that's all that mattered. It was a miracle that my dad was still here because he was a “ticking time bomb,” according to the doctors. God was never the one to blame. God put my dad through this because God knew that my dad was strong enough to get through it. I continue to thank God every day for giving my dad a second chance at life. However, I will continue to question why bad things happen to good people.