I didn't know him well at all. He and my mom were divorced when I was a baby. He had a drinking problem, and when he drank, he hit my mom, and towards the end of their marriage, he started hitting the oldest kids. So my mom got out of there.

After that, I'd see my dad once or twice a year, even though he lived an hour away. I don't remember a whole lot about these visits, except how uncomfortable they were. He'd say he loved me a hundred times, but that's really all he could say. I began to doubt this, because as my mom always taught me, actions speak louder than words.

He only met my husband and our Kyler once. We went out there to California 2 years ago and he drove up to see us. He stayed for a half hour, and smelled of beer, so I kept my distance, and made sure he didn't hold my baby.

That was the last time I saw him alive.

So when I got the news last Sunday that he had died, I didn't know what to feel. I almost didn't go to the funeral. What kind of daughter goes to her dad's memorial without ANY good memories to share?

Well, after lots of soul searching, praying, and advice from my sweet husband, I decided to go. I flew out on Wednesday (which was hard enough, because I'd never been away from my boys). What I saw in the 4 days I was there was almost too much to take in.

My dad had pictures of all of his children and grandchildren all over his house. His fridge, his dresser, his walls.

My dad loved beautiful things. He had pictures of breathtaking landscapes everywhere. He also collected beautiful rocks, and made jewlery out of them. He also had quotes from Shakespeare and other great poets everywhere!

My dad was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. A lot of his friends had no idea about this because he hasn't gone in at least 30 years. But going through his things, we found that the gospel was still very important to him, and he never lost his faith. He had his baptismal records, priesthood ordination record, patriarchal blessing, and everything he ever collected in church in a very special, safe place in his home.

My dad opened his home to countless people throughout his life. If someone needed a place to stay, and he had the room, he'd take them in without batting an eye.

My dad hung out with bikers. Leather jackets, tatoos, harleys, the works. I was a bit nervous about meeting these men, because of society's idea of them. I was humbled rather quickly. These men loved him like family, and had hearts of gold. When they heard that he had died and we kids were trying to raise money for his funeral expenses, they spread the word, and in TWO DAYS, came up with $2,000 to help!

My dad befriended a homeless gentleman who lived in a park near his home. They spent countless hours there on the park bench talking. This touched me because even though this was recently, at a time in his life where he didn't have much money, he gave what he had, which was time. I'm learning that this is more precious than gold.

At the funeral, I felt the Spirit of our Heavenly Father very strong. I knew that He was very proud of us children for honoring our dad this way, and for bringing out the good in him.

I also found out something else. My dad loved me. I mean, he really LOVED me. He didn't know how to show it, but somehow he managed to show it in the legacy he left behind.

I know my dad's spirit was there with us at his memorial. I can only imagine how shocked he was to see us all there! But I'm hoping he left this earthly life knowing that his children love him, and that that love will give him the courage and motivation he needs to make the changes he needs to make.

There's so much more I learned, and I wish I could write it all down. My life was changed in those 4 days. I'm so grateful to this man who gave me life.

I love you, Dad.