This is an opinion piece.

“Enjoy every day.”

That was a key phrase I wrote about a few months ago in this space after taking my 92-year-old father to see the doctor.

For the last four months, that is exactly what we did.

We laughed. We hugged. We prayed.

We talked about his days at Pell City High School and his childhood.

We drank coffee (and plenty of it).

We celebrated Christmas, New Year’s and my birthday.

We watched Auburn win four games in the NCAA Tournament.

We celebrated being together as a family all the while knowing that the next day was truly not guaranteed.

For us, the next day came Saturday, March 29.

Donald Vaughn Thomas, my father, died at his home in Gainesville, Ga., with his wife of nearly 63 years by his side. They would have celebrated their anniversary on April 8.

It was something we expected since receiving the diagnosis of esophageal cancer in late November.

It was something I spent four months preparing for, yet I still wasn’t ready. How could you be really?

My father was my hero. And he was gone.

Dad was stern when he needed to be but always loving.

He had unwavering support for his wife, his three sons and our families. My wife jokes sometimes that we are like the Cleaver family because we are blessed with an increasingly rare closeness.

Dad enjoyed laughing, and, boy, did I enjoyed laughing with him.

A lot of times during my high school days, I stayed home and watched TV with him instead of choosing to go out with my friends.

We watched sports together. He loved watching the Braves, except when they were terrible – like this year apparently. In the 80s, we would watch Dale Murphy bat, then turn the channel until he batted again.

Dad liked watching John Wayne movies, the Andy Griffith show and Newhart. He loved drinking coffee and playing golf. He was an award-winning salesman who was quick with his wit and easy to get to know. And he and mom modeled a God-centered marriage for six decades.

In the last four months, because of his cancer diagnosis, he was limited to only liquids. He lived on Carnation Instant breakfast, Boost, soups, broth, ice cream and a few other items we could find that could slip through whatever hole was remaining in his esophagus.

His eyesight had mostly been taken away by macular degeneration.

He didn’t have much feeling in his hands, a result of neuropathy.

But you wouldn’t have known all that.

He spent his last four months like he did his previous 92 ½ years – happy.

When I would walk into the kitchen on occasion to get some more coffee for him – even with all his ailments and knowing his life on earth was coming to an end – I could hear him talking to Jesus.

You know what struck me?

He wasn’t asking the Lord to take away any of his illnesses.

He was thanking Him for his family, for the blessings in his life.

What a powerful testimony. I hope I never forget that.

My father is gone, and I’ll never stop missing him.

But the great promise of the Gospel is that he is healed now, and I will see him again one day. In the meantime, I hope I can follow his lead.

These lyrics by Trace Atkins have always reminded me of my dad and how he raised us.

“But when I bow my head tonight

There’ll be no me, myself and I

Just watch my wife and kids please Lord

That’s all I ask for any more

Let them outlive me by a hundred years

Let their laughter dry up all their tears

Let them love and be loved back like I have been.”

I truly hope you can love and be loved back like I have certainly been.

Love you always, Dad.

Ben Thomas is the high school managing producer at AL.com. He has been named one of the 50 legends of the Alabama Sports Writers Association. Follow him on twitter at @BenThomasPreps or email him at [email protected].