Six years ago, at the age of ten, my dad shared with me that he had cancer. Two years before that, my grandfather passed away from colon cancer. The same thing that my dad now had. He promised me it would be different, but I did not really understand the weight of what he was saying. All I knew was that he would get through it because my dad could beat anything. It started off slow. He had chemo therapy many days of the week, and I would always text him during the waiting time. I remember he would come home looking exhausted, and me, not knowing how hard it was for him, would be upset he did not wanna go play basketball with me. This cycle went on and on for a while, until one day it stopped. I had gotten home from school and my mom said we were taking him to the hospital. I froze with fear wondering what was next. My mom said there was a baby sitter here for my brother and I so we could stay home. However, the next day I told my mom I wanted to go see him, so she picked me up and drove me there. I hate hospitals: The food is bad, it smells gross, the hallways look endless, and if you look into any room they are all filled with sadness and hopelessness. I remember walking into his room and he looked embarrassed; he did not want me to see him in that way. I did not care however, I just wanted to see my dad. A couple of weeks later, he was released and he got to come home. The previous cycle continued for a month or two until it happened again. He had to go to the hospital. The chemo was failing, and all other treatments were too. We had no more options. He just got weaker and weaker. Going outside to play basketball together was no longer something we could do. I remember how much my mom had to do to take care of him. Medicine at 1 AM and 5 AM caused her to be exhausted too. Everything kept spiraling and my mom decided to place him in hospice. It was Superbowl Sunday of 2023; my dad and I would always watch the Superbowl together. I had decided I was going to go visit him in hospice to watch it with him. When I arrived, I learned that he was no longer able to speak clearly. I knew it was over, and I had never felt so empty. During the game, my dad said "offense". I thought he was just trying to reminisce but after the game ended my mom told me what he was really saying. "Options." Two weeks later, on my rising freshman night for high school. I got a call. My mom said he passed away. I broke down. It was over. My friends found out and called me, they said that they were here for me and they would stay on call with me. We talked all night and the next day we went to hang out and talk about my dad. Today, three years later, a lot has changed. I am slowly getting better through friends, Camp Kesem, and Jesus. I truly believe if I had not had those three things I would not be here today so I am forever grateful for them. Cancer sucks, and no one deserves to go through what I did. Yet it still happens, so do not take anything for granted.