For Mike Cottrell - my dad and my biggest fan

                  Originally posted to facebook on June 21, 2009

Two years ago, with your family gathered around you on this day, we had to put you in the hospital. Five days later we had to say goodbye to you forever.

On this day, two years later, I remember what an amazing father you were.

I am so blessed that I had you for a father. You were my rock and from the launching pad of your solid strength I was able to fly.

You were my idea of what a man should be. Strong, always there, stable, dependable -- a strong calloused hand that lifted me up when I fell, that kissed my bruises and scrapes, that reeled me back in when I got too far out of line.

You taught me to walk, to run, to ride on two wheels and later to drive. You taught me that the best joys in life are simple; a dawn sunrise on the banks of a river with your fishing pole dangling in the water and a cup of hot chocolate in your hand, the sound of dirt bikes starting up in the early morning sunlight, a walk -- holding your hand no matter how old I got. You taught me that people are not always what they seem and that I should never throw away my 'pearls before the swine'.

You didn't always agree with me. You didn't always think I was making the 'right' choices. Sometimes I made you so mad the veins in your forehead would bulge and your face would turn red, but you never stopped loving me. Not ever.

You told me the words I needed to hear when my heart was broken, that one man in this world would never stop loving me. That one man in this world would always stand by me, cheering on the sidelines of my life. The time I got stood up for homecoming in the 7th grade, you came home with two dozen red roses and told me that any boy who would pass up a date with me was blind and stupid and not worth the tears I'd shed.

You helped me believe in myself.

The best things I have ever done were because you and mom believed in me, daddy.

And later, watching you with my girls -- the apples of your eye, as you took them places and bragged on them. Even your last days in the hospital, you were sure to tell the nurses all about your grandbabies and how special they were.

Today, I remember the days of riding up next to you in the cab of the truck as a little girl -- on our way to some camping adventure. How you loved to sing! And we would sing at the top of our lungs, loud as we please --





especially this part, where you would smile and we would sing as loud as we could "She's 41 and her daddy still calls her baby".

You always called me baby, no matter how old I was. And I'll always be your baby, daddy.

I love you. I remember you.