The Nightmare of Who My Dad Was

I had a nightmare last night of who my dad really was, and knowing that I’ll never have time with him again broke my heart this morning.

When I think of the man my dad was I think of an intelligent, gentle, kind, and caring dad. He was so organized, clean, and down to earth. He couldn’t stand a speck of dirt on his white shoes. He spoke with sweetness and curiosity. Because of the disease he suffered with, he sat on the couch slumped, half asleep, with food spilling from his mouth all over his shirt he had been sleeping in for days. His eyes were glossed and he slurred his sentences. I couldn’t stand the sight, and he couldn’t stand himself.

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When I think of the man with the disease I understand why it was his time to go. He was very sick, hurting physically and mentally. You could hear it in his voice, you could see it from his frail body.

When I think of the dad that raised me into who I am, I feel robbed of so much time. From the time he relapsed to the time he spent in prison for crimes he committed under the influence. The times where the disease controlled him. All that time, where my real dad, the one that gave me countless lessons on how we should help others, that time was so short. So today I woke up after a nightmare.

In my nightmare my dad and I were going for a ride, probably to Boston from our home because we loved to take that trip for a fun adventure in the city when I was young. In the nightmare I remember so vividly resting my head on my dad’s shoulder and him telling me he loved me. We sang in the dream, like we always did together, and I giggled and so did he. A car suddenly jammed on their breaks in front of me and my dad tried to swerve. In the nightmare the part where we were flying through the air from the impact into the guardrail lasted what felt like 3 minutes although I’m sure in a real accident it would last 5 seconds. While in the air my dad looked at me with fear and regret. I looked at him back love and acceptance. Finally after what felt like those 3 minutes the car landed into an empty lot and we were both okay. He looked at me in the eyes and said I’m sorry.

At this part of my nightmare I started coming to. I started opening my eyes lightly to reality. But you know when you’re in that part of your dream where you know you’re self but you still don’t know what’s real? I said to myself, “Wow! That was scary, I have to call my dad tomorrow, I really miss him.” Then in a panic I really jolted awake. Have I not talked to my dad in that long of time or is he really gone? Is he really gone? This can’t be. How can this be?

I have nightmares almost every night. Usually there much more violent. Usually my dad is so high he can’t talk and I try to get him to come with me but he can’t move. They take place in our old house in Carver and someone is always chasing us and trying to kill us. Usually my dad is sick in my dreams. I wake up with a bad feeling but no heartache.

Today I woke up with a heartache that I haven’t felt before. Because of my dads disease I wasn’t able to see him as often as I’d liked. So sometimes we wouldn’t talk for a week or two and still I felt it in my heart that he was with me. I woke up yearning for that call. But the moments when we could talk were so beautiful and up-lifting. I can’t explain to you how wonderful of a man my dad really was. He was so funny and sweet and always spoke his mind. He didn’t tolerate talking bad about others and he always was honest. He would sing and repeat you to be funny, even if he knew it got on your nerves. He’d pinch my ear and make fun of my tiny size. And then he’d hold my hand and tell me how lucky he is that I’m alive. He was everything to me. When we’d talk my energy would rise from a 1 to a 11. If I had a bad day or something on my mind he’d ease all my worries.

All I want today was to talk to my dad. Today I am remembering the man my dad really was and not about his disease and today I have cried a lot and it’s only 8:30am.

 

I miss you dad. One day I’ll tell my children about the man that you were: a smart, intelligent, kind, protective, funny, and slightly annoying (on purpose) dad. There’s a lot of people, including me, working to change the way we view this disease and to show others that this disease isn’t who the person is. Although it’s hard pill to swallow that behind the disease I lost the greatest man in my life, I will continue to remember who you truly were and that that is the person I lost years before you passed away and I’m so sorry we didn’t have a solution for you.

7 Stages of Addiction Grieving: Opioid and heroin death grieving

How can we handle the death of a loved one that has passed away from opioid or heroin or any drug addiction?

The truth is it’s almost impossible because unfortunately, we’ve been watching our loved one die repeatedly probably for years.

The 7 stages of grieving give us clarity on emotions we feel when a loved one passes. When my dad passed away from addiction, I found that I experienced different emotions that I wasn’t sure I should feel guilty about. Below are the steps of grieving I have taken after watching my dad struggle with addiction throughout his life.

7 Stages of Grieving an Addiction Death

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Anxiety | Initially, all the built-up fear in anticipation for a fatal overdose or accident is now a reality. An anxiety that has built up for years will take over. 

The first feeling is anxiety. All the built-up fear in anticipation for something to go wrong hits you like a ton of bricks. This is it. This is the time you’ve really feared the most and now you’re facing your fear. Everyone reacts differently to anxiety. I screamed in my tears, I was trembling, bent over at the waste looking out the window trying to catch my breath. I paced my little apartment and after 10 minutes, I put myself in an uber to the hospital.

Tip: Turn on auto-pilot. 

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Relief | It’s common to feel relieved in weeks following the loss of a loved one. You are no longer constantly worrying about your loved one’s safety.

It’s not uncommon to secondly feel relieved. You never know when the next time will be the last time and suddenly that anxious feeling escapes you and is filled with a new feeling of disbelief that this is over. Maybe you’re used to your loved one in and out of jail or on the streets, and your mind may convince you that this is like one of these times and it will take a few months, even years, to realize this isn’t the case.

Tip: Don’t feel guilty. Your body and mind need the rest. Don’t fight it.

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Trauma | The last moments with your loved one’s body are extremely traumatizing. TV shows, movies, or seeing addiction in person can cause strong emotions. 

The third feeling is experiencing sudden realizations of what happened. If you were the one to find your loved one unconscious or if you saw them in the hospital trying to revive, you’ll be brought back to that place. It’ll feel like free falling. A pit in your stomach that you can’t explain and a dark place that you’ll need to be careful not to stay in. The last moments with your loved one’s body are extremely traumatizing because you want to believe so badly that they could’ve or should’ve been revived one last time.

Tip: Breath in and breath out slowly. Remember your loved one is no longer in pain and that’s most important. 

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Regret/Guilt | Regretting the weeks leading up before the death is common. We question whether we did the right thing and if our final decisions caused the death. We take the blame. 

Along with the third feeling comes a form of regret. We put addiction aside and wish that we should’ve been there more and we envision if we had just been their things would’ve been different. We take self-blame and ownership of the addiction. Confidence in all the decisions we made throughout our loved one’s life is key. These feelings will come but you can control if they stay.

Tip: Remember, our loved ones never wanted us to take on their problems as our own.

note from dad before he passed away

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Misunderstanding | We’ve mourned the loss of the soul before. Now we are connecting the loss of the soul with the loss of the physical person. It can be complicated to explain or experience.

Fifth is a feeling of others not understanding our grief. We’ve mourned the loss of the soul far before the passing of the body on and off and no one will ever understand that. Others may not understand that the soul was harder to grieve than the body and now the combination is nearly incomprehensible. We’ll feel that people just don’t get it and feel alone and a bit frustrated. When we say we miss our loved ones, we miss them in ever since of the word. While when our loved one was alive, we missed who their spirit made them. Now we’re experiencing the desire to have any form of our loved one back.

Tip: Talk with loved ones. Try to be vulnerable and open.

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Calmness | We’re not used to feeling calm. Our bodies had become used to chaos. Now we’re adjusting to more predictability in our lives.

Six is the feeling of loneliness and a calm we weren’t ready for. Loving someone who is struggling with addiction makes us hyper-aware of everything. Every phone call, every time you hear an ambulance, you’re not sure if it’s for your loved one. Every time you walk in the door, you don’t know what version of your loved one you’ll get. Suddenly, you have to get used to not having those worries, and that makes us feel calm but at the same time lonely. Our bodies aren’t used to the chaos that addiction brings, but over time we adapt to the constant worrying.  Our bodies begin to function in chaos.

Now, we suddenly don’t have to worry about the ambulance on its way to give Narcan to your loved one. Now you walk in the door and it’s more predictable of what you’ll see. At the same time, this creates an unsettling feeling of emptiness and your body and mind are searching for something to fill the void. For a while, you may be extremely high strung, emotional, and feel out of place in a normal setting.

Tip: Let out your chaotic energy with a hobby, exercise, or something that is transcendent.

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Letting go | In time, letting go of pain and remembering the good memories and the spirit of our loved one is possible. 

Seven is the most wonderful feeling of them all. Letting go of your role as a constant worrier for your loved one. The feeling that your loved one is no longer in pain and that there is hope. Whether you’re religious or not, we all hope that our loved one is drug-free looking out for us. Now is the time to realize our strength and theirs throughout the years. Letting go of pain and remembering the good memories and the spirit of our loved one (without the all the memories of the disease clouding judgment) is relieving. We tell friends, family, and acquaintances stories about our loved one that show who they were as a person and not how the disease of addiction made them appear. It’s not easy to get to this step and it may take time. This is healing.

Tip: Keep a journal for when you remember memories.


The best thing to do is tell stories of your loved one often and keep their spirit alive. Cry when you need to. Get angry when you need to. Feel regret when you need to. But only as long as you remind yourself that you’re strong. You experienced pain that no one else can ever understand. It’s an excruciating pain to watch someones spirit leave and come back multiple times before actually dying. You made it through and that makes you one of the strongest people I know. If you’re alive, focusing on your health, and improving your life for yourself and others, you have no reason to have any regrets. We do all we can for our loved ones struggling with addiction, all in different ways.

Our loved ones want and need us to move on because the greatest feeling they feel is guilt. Wake up and tell your loved one out loud:

“You didn’t fail me. Your disease taught me strength. I go on today to make my life and other lives better because of you. You shaped me and I accept you for all that you were in my life. I will remember you always, NAME” 

7 stages of grief: addiction grieving

In memory of Steven Olbinsky, my best friend, my dad, my everything. March 23, 1964 – October 26th, 2017. As the years go by, there will be less time spent with you. Your spirit will continue to thrive because I’ll share the memory of you with others that never got the pleasure. Addiction is a disease that deserves more love and understanding. I believe that if you, dad, were able to love so deeply despite your disease, others can too. I have hope that together you and I will give a chance for healthy relationships, forgiveness, and love despite the disease of addiction. To learn more visit my website www.lolbinsky.com. 

Collateral Beauty | California Friend

 

I called a Lyft to pick me up at my apartment on March 23rd. We started chatting and he told me that he was here from California. As any New Englander would do, we joked about why anyone would move here from California with this kind of weather (even though we all know why… we’re the best.) My Lyft driver said quietly, “My sister has cancer.”

Suddenly my vulnerable heart and his connected in silence.

We talked about his fears for his sister, how the two of them were adopted by Jewish parents, and how tough of a year it’s been.

It felt like fate that of all days and all the Lyft drivers I could’ve gotten I was in the car with someone who needed to be open as intensely as I did.

Finally, I explained, I’m going to celebrate my dads birthday for the first time at a cemetery today.

Again the beautiful silence.

Then he says, “I lost my mom in October too. Cancer. She didn’t want treatment.”

The pain my new friend was going through but the strength he showed, it was admirable. It made me feel like everything was okay, and I think it made him feel the same.

I learned a lot from my friend. His sister is extremely strong and optimistic. He is here in Massachusetts, just the two of them, supporting one another. His mom was amazing. Very strong but also very stubborn.

I showed my friend the book that I am writing for my dad. As tears welled and my throat clenched, he suddenly said, “I feel stupid. I didn’t save or record any of the memories I had with my mom.”

Wiping tears from his eyes, I explained, “the best thing you can do is to keep her spirit alive because that is what’ll always carry on. Opening up to me and allowing me to open up, too, is what makes your mom look down on you and smile with pride.”

It’s hard to open up to strangers, especially about losing a loved one, but when you do, sometimes, beautiful things can happen. Strangers have parallels in their lives that you wouldn’t believe. When two people who are going through struggle connect, they become connected.

My friend made my visit to my dad a lot easier. When I sat down with my dad I had a full heart. Inspired, and happy that we could be vulnerable and open. People who are struggling don’t want sympathy or advice. They want to feel a human connection, hope, and understanding.

Sharing your story will be inspiring. Feel great about sharing memories of someone who is no longer with you. It may be tough, but do it for their soul. Do it for the person who’s listening who might be losing their loved one.

 

You Should Be Here

I believe in struggling.

It taught me loyalty, beauty,

and that the world owes me nothing.

It taught me I can be as lighthearted as I want and that age doesn’t matter.

I believe that God does give his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers

And that I was lucky enough to be chosen.

I’ve been expected to be brave, invincible, and fearless.

And I’ve lived the words

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

I’ve also seen things and felt a pain that some will never feel in their entire lives

before I was old enough to drive a car.

I have to be strong for a greater purpose because

I feel like my duty is far beyond me.

It’s beyond saving my family. It’s for the world.

Because somebody needs to hear this.

To those who’ve struggled with addiction and never found your way out.

To my dad who didn’t get to experience every inch of my love

because of a disease that made emotion numb.

You should be here.

I recreated this from Kehlani’s, “You Should Be Here” song intro. It was just so beautiful and it came on the other day while I was showering and it brought me to tears. It’s an anthem to all that I am supposed to be and sometimes just as many of us experience, I know I get distracted. I get pulled away from my purpose. But it’s always been there and it’s not going away.

 

It’s so important for us to surround ourselves with people who support us and our dreams. To allow yourself enough alone time and to stay away from people who make you feel any less magical than you are. Toxic influences can lead to incomplete dreams and the only person you’ll have to blame is yourself.

Two months before my dad died someone looked me in my eyes and said, “You think your life is so hard. You feel bad for yourself.” I knew it wasn’t true because since my teenage years I hadn’t felt that way. As untrue as it is, I have to share my experiences because I hope someone out there will read this memoir of pieces about my dad and me and feel a little better.

Maybe I can help a 13-year-old who just found out her dad has relapsed to not feel alone or selfish or helpless. Maybe I can help a parent who is ashamed of their addiction have hope that they can still give their child the best chance at a future. 

I’m not the first one to face struggles, and my pain is not to be compared to anyone else’s. But it’d be a shame to not be proud and shine through. If you’ve been through a struggle that cut you deep, that made you realize that something you thought you couldn’t live without is now gone, or if you’ve been tested to your limits with pain and defeat, don’t be afraid to let it give you a smile now.

There’s beauty in struggle, and we need to utilize it for good. Yeah, we’re a little messed up, on edge, defensive, and extremely loyal, and a little scattered, but we’re not afraid of anything that comes our way.  We’re the strongest soldiers and ready for the toughest battles.

Everything I do is with love and intention that my dad gave my life. Without my dad, I might’ve not known as much struggle but I would’ve never known how grateful I should be to live another day and how beautiful genuine people are.

So if you believe you’re a soldier and can make this life the greatest it can be, you should be here.

The power of breathing

Sometimes when I think about my dad on his last day I almost feel that feeling. That one that people usually feel when you lose someone. Like that the world is ending and that you’ll never recover and that you don’t have any internal organs just shattered fragments of your heart infiltrating your body.

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Today I was working on something and I noticed my breathing. I was breathing through my nose and became ultra aware of my chest rising and falling. It brought me back to the hospital. Before I saw my dad, I was told that he was brain dead and if it weren’t for the breathing machine, his organs would shut down completely.

It made sense to me. It made sense that because of westernized medicine some people would find it normal to keep their loved ones breathing just so they could feel their presence for as much time as possible. But it didn’t make sense to use that as an excuse for the cold truth that my dad was no longer ever going to say I love you again.

The doctor was so strong as she looked at me in the eyes and told me my dads brain was no longer functioning.

When I saw my dad I watched as his chest rose and fell. I heard the sound of the breath. Sometimes I take deep breaths to get through times that make me feel weak and vulnerable and nervous and it just hits me that my dad will never get another breath and that he isn’t there to call to substitute my meditation practice.

If I ever had a tough day where I thought the world was unfair, that people didn’t understand me, I’d call him and he’d just make all my worries disappear because he loved me, he believed in me, and he knew exactly what to say to make me feel like I could conquer the world.

I think a lot of people are surprised at how well I’ve handled the passing of my dad. I guess you could say I’m back to “normal” but when I have these moments like the thought of my dad in the ICU I feel my brain physically moving the feeling of pain out of me. I wouldn’t say I’m in shock but in order for me to go on with my life and do what I’m meant to do in this world, I can’t let the shattering infiltrate me completely. I have a mission in this world. Hope for addiction will be spread through the story of my dad and me.

I get the feeling that once the pain infiltrates my body I will be nothing. I will lose my health. My organs will literally shut down. I will begin the process of death. My dad was truly my everything. My world will end when my mission is over.

For now, I’m here and as I am crying at the thought I just experienced I am slowly starting to snap back into pilot mode.

“Work hard, stay on track. Your dad is dead. You’re okay,” is what my mind is saying. My tears are drying and I am ready to get back to work.

Love is confusing because we don’t know whether to define it as a weakness or a strength. Well, I’d say it’s both. It’s what’s keeping me going but I think it’ll be what kills me too.

The important part is that I remember to breathe. Even if sometimes it brings me back to the most painful moments – just keep breathing. The simplicity of breathing seems a fleeting thought but the power it holds is tremendous. I guess when you see someone taking their last one it reminds you of it’s power.

 

A New Look at Addiction to Consider

Maybe we’re looking at addiction wrong. Would it be insulting or hurtful to the addict if I said I am anticipating their relapse? Maybe not anticipating but maybe I’m sort of expecting it, but not in the way that I am wishing bad things or not believing in the person to fight the battle full force.

Steve Olbinsky Sobriety

In the last months of my dad’s life, I no longer felt a pit in my stomach that my dad was using drugs. I anticipated he was. The scariest part of his addiction wasn’t the drug use anymore, it was his desire to die. He was using drugs not to get high but to feel like he could hold on for just one more day. Physically he was down to almost 100 pounds, and mentally he couldn’t stand himself. I recorded our last conversation we had where he painfully told me his desire to close his eyes while weeping for my forgiveness. He said, “I tried to like lay down and I started to stop taking all the pills and everything.”

I anticipated that my dad would use drugs again but is that really even the issue? Because an addiction is the disease but is the drug use even the day to day issue? We’re all living to find a reason to continue living. With this disease, living becomes a dependency to a substance. So to fight that dependency it takes giving up something that you depend on and that takes a kind of power that we shouldn’t put so much pressure on to achieve unless we’ve been in those shoes before. Why can’t you just stay sober? It’s only like holding your breath from the moment you wake up till the moment you fall asleep. And good luck catching your breath and have a pleasant dream at the same time.

I had 5 years to decide how I was going to handle my dad’s release from prison and his freedom to make good or bad choices with the tough task of re-entering society. We wrote to each other every week just about and we talked about the things we wanted to do and the way we loved each other so full we could take over the world if we wanted to. In a way, I think that’s why it didn’t work out. Our love was way too powerful.

While he was in prison I wrote this blog post, why I won’t be upset if my dad relapses. It was my eternalized emancipation to his addiction. I wrote about the realities. A drug addiction shouldn’t ruin a bond like the one my dad and I had. I knew I couldn’t enable him. I wrote about the emotions. I understood I’d feel a bit heartbroken inside if he were to relapse. But most importantly I wrote what I would hold on as a truth. I would never let his addiction measure how much he loves me and the chapter doesn’t end until the day that I give up. And here I am continuing to write about my dad even after his passing.

I loved and love my dad more than anything in this world. I don’t even fear death anymore. That’s how our strong our bond was. He fulfilled my life and he gave me my riches- his love, his advice, his heart. I hold onto his letters, photos, and notes like treasured artifacts.

Despite this crazy love, I can confidently tell you that I anticipated his relapse. And to be honest, it made my life so much easier- and maybe his too. It wasn’t something I ever said to him. It should really go as an unspoken truism if you choose to adopt. I no longer had the ups and downs and celebrations with every day that passed that he wasn’t using. I also didn’t have the disappointments either.

When my dad and I went to Bruno Mars, he was excitedly choosing which outfit he should wear for his big night. He had on one shirt but when he decided he wanted to wear something Bruins related, he threw on another over. His frail body looked as though the shirt was weighing him down, but he was so excited to be back in TD Garden it didn’t seem to bother him much. He went over to his pills and he said, “Leanna should I take my pills?” I didn’t know what to say. My heart was beating fast and I had to take a big deep breath. He was looking at me so deeply and so desperately and yet I didn’t know the answer he wanted to hear. I really think he wanted to hear that if he didn’t take the pills everything would be okay and he wouldn’t be in pain but we both knew that wasn’t true. I calmly, with a choke in my throat, said, “Daddy, take what you need so that you’re comfortable at the concert.” It was such a scary feeling to know that if he didn’t take those pills he could’ve been in agonizing pain. He could’ve had a heart attack or a breakdown.

The day after the concert, he was so happy. The happiest I had heard him since he lost his license and totaled his car. He was singing, celebrating, and appreciating how beautiful life can be. He said, “This is what life is about, Leanna.” About 2 days later, I tried calling and didn’t get an answer. I knew that he was using again because if he wasn’t I would’ve had a text back instantly. Regardless, I continued to text him, “I love you, daddy!” I didn’t feel an ounce of regret, anger, or disappointment. I just wanted my dad to be okay, and I was waiting for his next call.

I was my dad’s reason for living. I gave his life as much meaning as I could. I would’ve given him my life. I would’ve traded my beautiful apartment, all my possessions, all my confidence and learned skills to let help him understand how much he meant to me. I tried articulating it in every way possible. The last letter I sent him I said if I could have the richest, smartest, dad that was a Doctor I wouldn’t trade him for you for even one second.

So what if we all stop putting so much pressure on sobriety as the solution? Could it potentially give loved ones more sleep at night? And more importantly, can it help an addict to feel like it’s as rare as it really is to not relapse? I just think it’s crazy that we ask so much. We think our love is enough to make a person want to be sober. Sobriety is desired by all addicts who’ve seen the pain they’ve caused. Your love is not a measurement of sobriety. Your support is, however, a measurement of love. But maybe we redefine support. Maybe we can accept that helping our loved one find meaning is more of the mission rather than helping an addict be sober. 

In the hospital when my dad was pronounced brain dead, my grandpa with tears streaming down his face said, Leanna. You saw dad different. I never thought he would die, I thought every time he was sober it’d be the last time and he would stay. But you accepted him and loved him for who he was.

Here is another glimpse of the last call my dad and I had. One day you’ll hear the pain and see my reaction as I accepted this nightmare but until I’m ready, read our words and please understand that addiction is more than using drugs. It takes away your life and puts you in a prison of depression.

Steve Olbinsky Last Phone Call

[Dad] I’m just so tired. I’m so… They took my f***ing license. Without a license, I’m like a fish out of water. I have no way of even attempting to even get a job. I don’t know how I’m going to get anything with the way my arm is. I’m… I don’t want to do drugs. I don’t want to have relapses anymore. I don’t want to have nothing anymore. I just like. I was really sick in bed for days. I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t do anything. I just like…

[Leanna] It’s okay daddy I’m here for you

[Dad] if it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t even want to live. I can’t do that to you. I just can’t leave you. That’s the only thing that’s stopping me from… from just … it’d be so nice to just go to sleep and not worry about nothing anymore. Not have any more problems. Not have any more letdowns. Not have any more you know?

My dad is at peace now

 

Last Thursday my dad called me and said he was tired. He said he was ready to close his eyes and be with grandma. It wasn’t a desperate call for attention, I could tell he felt his body getting tired and he was letting me know that right then on the phone. He said he was tired of being an addict, tired of feeling the way he did, and tired of the guilt he felt. I wanted to take away all of his pain but he told me that he felt like the luckiest man in the world. He talked about Lou Gehrig and how he had ended his career and was in pain and said, “Fans, for the past two weeks you have been reading about a bad break I got. Yet today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.”

This is only a week after the most amazing concert of our lives, Bruno Mars. I didn’t think it’d be possible to get him to the concert with all the factors standing in my way but my dad has never asked me for anything and a few days before the concert he asked me to go with him. With the help and support of my loved ones, I was able to dance and sing and smile and laugh one last time with my daddy.

He was in so much pain. He was skinny as a rail, could barely stay awake, but the way his eyes lit up when we danced together really showed me that love is the most powerful thing in this world.

My dad and I have a love that’ll continue to keep me going because even now I hear my daddy saying I love you, helping me make right decisions, and encouraging me to be a good person to others. My dad believed whole-heartedly that giving to those who cannot give back is a true testament of a person’s character. I know people will continue to tell me that I gave my dad a purpose for living, but to be honest he has given me so much more than that and I’ll never be able to repay him. He gave me the things in life that are invaluable. I will carry with me his spirit, I’ll share all of his love, and I’ll live with his name on lips for the rest of my life. That is the best way that I can make up for what he has given me.

To my grandpa, mom, uncles, aunts, cousins, brothers, co-workers, acquaintances, and friends, I will love you so much. I will always be there for you just as my dad was always there for me. And I will give and give and give, and I know it’ll make my dad the proudest. Thank you for being here with me to celebrate the life of the man that’ll keep my fire burning. If you ever are wondering “how I do it,” it’s because Steven Olbinsky, my dad, wouldn’t have it any other way.