Sitting there in the Intensive Care unit, watching my dad struggle to breathe, I felt as if the walls were caving in around me. He had eight broken ribs, a punctured lung, a broken shoulder, and a cracked vertebrae. My dad, who was always able to make everything better, was barely able to breathe because of his injuries. I have never been so afraid, and I know I will never forget the moment when I realized that there was a good chance he would die.
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On a chilly January afternoon, I felt more at peace than I ever had before. My dad and I, both of us panting from the hike, were absorbing the beauty and tranquility of the world below us. Even though it was January, the sky was cloudless and the most beautiful shade of a vibrant blue. The forest around us was bustling with the noises of woodland animals. There was a gentle breeze up in the mountains. It was there, on that rock, I felt so thankful that my dad was able to be there with me. I remembered every little memory I had of him and I knew he was a great dad. I remember playing boardgames with him when I was little, riding on the back of his motorcycle with the wind whipping my hair around me, building birdhouses and fishing on early Sunday mornings. I remembered all of the happy times I've had with him and everything he taught me over the years. Standing there with my him, looking over the valley I was born and raised in, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.