At 16 years old, I was my father's urn bearer. I got to place my father in his final resting place as they lowered my grandmother's casket next to my father's. The air was extremely cold, and I refused to wear gloves so I could feel the wooden box that would encase my father's ashes forever. The biggest and strongest man I have ever had the honor of being related to was reduced to ashes. I lost my father and grandmother on December 23rd, 2024. I woke up that morning and told my dad goodbye, reassuring him that he could pick the movie we were going to watch for family movie night when he returned. Since it was so close to the holidays, my mother left for my grandparent's house to help prepare for our early Christmas party the day after. What I didn't know was that my dad stopped by his mother to take her to work with him, as he usually did. My father left the house at 9 am and was pronounced dead at 12:59 pm. Thirteen minutes after my father passed, my grandmother was pronounced deceased. My father had gotten into his little red truck for the last time, riding next to his mom, his best friend. If I had known that my father would reach an uncontrolled intersection and be struck by a driver who failed to yield to the right of way, I wouldn't have let him leave the house. The house was too cold without Dad, and it wasn't a home without him. We moved to my grandmother's house a week later. My father, Javier Hernandez, was beloved by our community. He was the smartest and kindest man in the whole world. He devoted himself to creating a better community for my sisters and me to grow up in. My dad was always smiling from ear to ear, telling me that kindness is free. He would do free construction jobs for people who were in need and give out scholarships to the kids in high school who needed financial aid. His construction company, Javiers Construction LLC, gave many people opportunities for employment and funded projects within the community. I saw hundreds of faces at his and my grandmother's funeral, each one with a story to tell about my dad or grandmother. I will mourn my father longer than I have known him. He was 39 when he passed, and I was 16. My grandmother, Amelia Hernandez, the sweetest soul with the warmest smile, died beside her son, my father. My grandmother was a kind and nurturing soul, she would sneak my sisters and me candies when my parents would tell her not to. She devoted herself to caring for her family and community. My grandmother was always smiling just like my dad, her front tooth was chipped and she'd stick her tongue out through the gap while giggling when someone said something particularly funny. I will miss her for the rest of my life. She was taken far too soon at the age of 62. Losing both of them has opened my eyes to the fragility of life. I know now that each life on this Earth is a gift from God, and as long as they are here, we must treat them as such. I know that my dad and grandma are rooting for me up there, as they were my biggest cheerleaders. I know now that I must work harder, as I have two angels watching me closely and guiding my way.