My name is Natalie and I just recently lost my dad very suddenly a few weeks ago. He was fine in the morning, kissed my mom goodbye as she went off to work, made breakfast for himself and my brother, and said he was tired (which wasn't unusual, he had sleep apnea so he was always restless), so he went down for a nap. I woke up and he was napping and thought nothing of it. But when he didn't come into the living room like usual after a couple hours, I decided to go check on him. That moment is forever stuck with me. My brother says I let out a horrible scream. I can't remember much beyond realizing my dad wasn't responding and that he was discolored. I called 911 and I was frantic and crying and police and EMTs arrived and they tried to revive him. I was having a panic attack but my brother managed to calm me down. He shielded me from the sounds and from them taking my dad out of the house and into the ambulance to the hospital. We had a small hope that maybe he would be okay. My mom came home shortly after and then we got the call. He was gone. He was only 67, but he did have a family history of heart problems. I'm 32, so I'm lucky I got to have the time I did with him. He was an amazing man, always smiling, always cracking jokes. I hate that I never got to say goodbye. I miss him so much every single day. It's so hard to look at his side of the bed and not break down, to not completely crumble. And as much as I love the support we've gotten from our family and friends during this time, they don't really understand the grief. The thing keeping me going is that because he was an organ donor, he was able to save and help so many people, which is what he would have wanted. He was a giver and always wanted to help and I want to believe he's watching over us still, in his own way.