I always knew my father loved me more than anything in this world. When I was born, he made a tiny Halloween costume just for me because he couldn’t wait to show off his baby girl. His excitement never faded. Even when I was a teenager and not the easiest to impress, he was happy to see me, no matter what we did together. No accomplishment was too small for him to celebrate.

My father lived through more than his fair share of storms—accidents and hospital stays were too often a part of his story—but even in the hardest moments, we found room for laughter. I’ll never forget the time he accidentally bit the head off a small ladybug candle I had picked out for him in the hospital gift shop. That memory still makes me smile.

My father had this way of giving, even when he didn’t have much to spare. Every visit, he had small tokens of love for me, my sister, and our children. Life was never dull with him. He was full of personality, stories, and strength. I wish I had inherited even a fraction of his resilience.

He was humble, strong, unique, and unforgettable. I will miss him. If I’m honest, I wish I had been a better daughter. I hope he knew he was loved.