Personal Narrative: Daddy's Girl

It was three days before the beginning of my junior year, and my sister was crying into the phone, desperately trying to wake me up. She kept wailing, “He won’t wake up, he won’t wake up!” At the time, I didn’t register what was happening and there was no way I could have prepared myself. Regardless of my preparedness, an hour later I was in the hospital being informed that the EMTs weren’t able to revive my dad, that he had passed that morning after he saw my mom off to work.
Had you looked up “daddy’s girl” in the dictionary for the duration of first sixteen years of my life, you would have seen my face plastered next to the definition. I was an absolute daddy’s girl when I was young, because my mom worked late nights so I never saw her

as much as I did my dad. Consequently, he was my best friend. Whenever I wanted a hug, I went straight for dad and his famous bear hugs; furthermore, if I wanted a cookie or an ice cream sandwich, I went to dad because I knew he likely wanted one too. For the longest time, I thought I was more like my dad than anyone else; I felt like we were on the same wavelength.
August 8, 2014 rocked my world. After that morning, I felt like one of those chew toys that dogs viciously shake until it falls apart; that is to say, I was beside myself, I didn’t know what to do. Therefore the days following my dad’s passing are a blur, the memory that still sticks with me today is seeing my mom cry. I had never seen her cry before, so it was shocking. But what struck a chord with me is how she cried, and how she tried to stay strong for my sisters and I. I think it was that moment that I registered that my mom was a person.
It was within those first few months that I feel like I came to know my mom. Simply put, she is an eccentric matriarch who likes jazz and loves to dance. She works hard, whether it be when she’s working as an administrator, a teacher, a contractor, or as a mother of four. She’s a great listener and always offers the best advice. However, that is by no means the only characteristics of my mother; honestly, she is a difficult woman to describe because she is a little bit of everything at once.
Since losing my dad, mom and I have grown really close. I have more memories of her now than I do in some of my earliest memories. When we go on vacations, she and I are always a pair; she drives, I direct and do research.Now I see her as a place of comfort, someone I can go to and talk about the things that are bothering me. We sit at the kitchen table every evening and crack sarcastic jokes and eat dinner and talk about the future. I never thought it would happen, but my mom has become one of my best friends; we are on the same wavelength.