December 22...

Every year on this day, my day starts the same. I wake up, stare at my Dad's picture on my dresser, and all my memories start flooding my head. Today marks the day he slipped into a coma. Eight years. Eight long hard years. You would think that the day that he passed away was the only hard day... but it was a two week long nightmare.

He was taken via Life Flight from Richfield to Provo December 22, 2003. I will never forget everything that happened on that day. I had felt heartache before, but nothing like this. Something that we couldn't deny was in fact happening. We prayed and hoped things would get better. Things weren't the same. Christmas wasn't the same.

My oldest was barely 10 months old, he would never know his Grandfather, and how much he was loved by him.

This photo was taken when my son was 15 mins old. He was a big baby at birth, so his Grandpa Childs called him 'Overload' and his 'Big Boy'.