I miss my dad. It's so hard to believe sometimes that he's actually gone. It's almost been three years, that's hard to believe too. My dad was the greatest man I ever knew. And I don't think I'm saying that out of foggy remembrance, I'm still constantly told how great he was by friends and family and it just reminds me that it's true. At my dad's funeral (actually memorial service, we had a private funeral) our church was the fullest I've ever seen it. The overflow and balcony were packed, seats were brought out of Sunday school classes, and there were still some people who had to stand. There were people there who probably hadn't been to church in years, if ever. Methodists, Baptists, Catholics, Buddhists, Atheists, and more. This spoke to my dad's influence on people's live, and their respect for him. My dad was not a flashy person. He was very humble (in fact if there were a fault in him it was that he was too humble). He was not famous. He was a professor of veterinary medicine at Auburn. He was well respected in his field, but not to an enormous extent. Dad didn't affect all those people at his memorial service en masse, he affected them individually, personally. People say I'm a good person, and sometimes it makes me ashamed: I'm not half the man my dad was. I like to talk about my dad, but sometimes it's not easy to. It's not something to bring up in a casual conversation. I never really told my friends at school about him unless they asked. I wasn't trying to hide it, but "Hi I'm James, my dad died two years ago" doesn't exactly flow. Then it's hard to tell them how he died. It's easier to say he was in a car accident than it is to say his van rolled on top of him and crushed him to death. I mean, it was an accident, and it was with a car (van), but for the most part it horrifies people to hear how he died. And I don't blame them. It was horrible. I know it was fast, but not instant and I can't imagine what goes through your mind in that time. That's something I don't like to talk about. It's also horrible that mom found him. I can't imagine what it would have done to me if I had found him. My mom is probably the strongest person I know. I'm thankful for my friends who were there for me, especially my best friend Kurt. When he came he ran up to me and just hugged me and was crying his eyes out and I'm so thankful I have a friend like him. He was so good to me in the time after, always coming over and making me feel better. Meg says when she thinks about her brother that died, she likes to think about how it would be if he were still alive. I think this is a nice thought, but I'm not there yet. I think it's still too soon. I wanted dad to see me graduate, to be the best man in my wedding, to hold his grandchildren. My dad loved children. He would have been the best grandfather. It hurts to think of these things, so I put them away for a day when the thoughts will be sweeter. My dad proved you could be a man without having to be macho and arrogant and abusive and cruel and cold. He was the opposite of all of these, and still more of a man than anyone I've met. While thinking about what would be is painful, thinking about was is good. I have wonderful memories of dad. I remember crawling into his lap at night and falling asleep in his arms. I remember him coming in the morning and letting me piggy back to breakfast. I remember how funny he was and how hard we laughed as a family. I remember how much he cared for everyone and how he cried even more than mom did when her mom died. I remember his faith, how much he loved God and had a personal relationship with Him and how much he wanted that for others. I strive to be like him and will raise my children with their knowing how great a man their grandfather was.