My father, my best friend, died on August 22. He moved to Georgia in January to be closer to me and my family, and we were all excited he was living a short 15 minutes away. Little did I know that such a time would only last eight months. My father was a Cardiologist who saved thousands of lives during his 40-year career, and was very sensitive to the suffering of others. I believe that is part of what made him a great doctor. He loved to learn, had many hobbies, including playing the guitar and watercoloring, and always had time for me. Whether I was 3 or 38, he was always there for me. He was the same way with my children. He had a special relationship with each one of them. Watching him be a fantastic grandfather, as he was a fantastic father, always made me happy. Now, we are devastated and left to figure out life without him. I took care of him the week before he was finally hospitalized (they kept insisting he “recover at home” despite worsening symptoms). I contracted COVID myself. I had a mild case. I miss my dad more than words can describe. There are some days I can’t bear the pain of it. He didn’t deserve this, and neither did all the other 210,000 Americans.