After two years he killed himself, I read his suicide note. I should have read it sooner.

To stop my hand from shaking a little, I took a deep breath and whispered, "I'm ready for this, I'm ready," as I let the breath out. Then I took the blue-lined notebook paper out of its package. It was time to read my dad's note about dying.

It took me almost two years to accept things as they are and be ready for them. People used to say I was a smart, active girl who was ready to take on the world. I had just graduated from high school as Valedictorian of my class. Inspired by my father, I got a full-ride grant to go to the college where he went to school and participate nationally on the Women's Track Team. All of this was possible because my Dad helped. He's my favorite person in the world.

As a child, it was just my dad and me, as far back as I can remember. He told me that when I was a baby, my mother had given up on her drug problems and left me. The pictures he showed me show that he was right when he said I looked just like her. But he never found her, and no one knows if she is still alive.

Even though my mom had died, my dad didn't stop to be a great dad. He told me all the time, "You and I are a team. Together, we can handle anything." And it was true. He drove me to and from school every day, then went right to work. When he got home, he took me to all of my additional activities and still found time to help me study and do my chores. He did make me do my chores sometimes, but I always turned it…