“The stages of grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.” I have recognized that grief comes differently for everyone: someone may experience denial for a majority of their life, while another might experience 3 stages at once. To me, it is all black and white. There is either too much emotion, or none at all. It was a beautiful day in Kaanapali, Maui; the sun was at the right height to give a perfect glow. While I was asleep on one of the pool chairs, I heard “Put some sunscreen on, you’re going to burn!” from my dad coming in from the ocean. Out of stubbornness (which I acquired from him), I stomped up to the hotel room. And as I resumed my nap, my dad came up to do the same. Now there was almost animal-like moaning coming from the other bed. I texted and called repeatedly for my mom to come check on him, with no response. I was frozen. Dad uttered “please call your mom,” unable to do it himself. I said that I had reached out, and would keep trying. I called our close friends until there was a loud banging on the door. With tears rolling down my face, I sprinted to explain to my mom and my friend’s dad how my dad was struggling more than I’d ever seen before. I always worried about my father’s health, often getting anxiety attacks when he went on walks, wondering whether he’d make it back. These fears were completely irrational because, according to his cardiologist, my dad was a “seemingly fit man.” I had never been as frightened as I was that day. He claimed that he was feeling better, but I had a gut feeling that he would begin to decline. The rest of us went to pick up groceries for the barbecue later that night. While shopping, my mom got a desperate call. The sun had set, and dad was moaning incoherent words on the phone. We called anyone we could to check on him before he lost all ability to speak. The next thing I knew, we were at the hotel, and my dad was being helped down the stairs into our rental car. Laying down in the back seat, he begged “please, just take me to the hospital,” and before they left, I said “bye, I love you,” followed by the loudest silence I’d ever heard. Urgent Care was roughly half an hour away from the hotel. I was tracking every movement they made on our shared location app, and the urgent care was closed. They changed direction to the hospital which was another half hour away. I texted: “are you guys doing okay?” multiple times, no response. My mom’s location stopped in the middle of the highway, but I assumed it was a disconnection to the cell towers. Ring! ring! At 8:34 PM on December 27th, 2022, I got the call. Asking a myriad of questions, my mom broke in and said, “Your father passed. I’m sorry honey.” The only word I could form was “no.” What else could I say? I could not fathom what I was hearing. My ears were fuzzy; I couldn’t process anything around me, I truly felt paralyzed, and like my body, my heart froze. Grief is an unwavering force. I have come back even stronger than I was before, learning that there are copious amounts of gray between the black and white. Although it may not seem like it, there is beauty in grief; it comes and goes, just like the tides in Hawaii.