12 years and it still hurts

When I was 19 my dad was diagnosed with Cancer. January of 1995, dad had surgery, a third of his left lung was removed, the sweat glands were also removed and some nerve endings. Dad went through radiation and three months later he was in remission. November of 1995 we were told the cancer had spread and he was to start chemo the next month. Chemo started in December. I don't know if I was too young or distracted or naive, but I thought things were going well with the Chemo. As his Cancer progressed and the Chemo continued to kick his ass, I began to see things differently. As the Chemo ripped his body apart, I began to resent my dad and how he wasn't the funny, happy person I grew up knowing. Lucky for us, friends didn't stop coming by and people would stop by and visit. My dad hated seeing people and aside from going to appointments, dad hardly ever left the house.
Looking back on it now, my dad was so weak and sick, but he was such a fighter. He told my mom numerous times he didn't want to die. As the months progressed, my brothers, sister and mom became a lot closer. Us kids kept it together for my mom and my mom stayed strong for my dad.
July 20, 1997 dad lost his battle with Cancer. He was 56. it was the worst day of my entire life. Dad was in the hospital and due to be released. He was in the hospital for routine dehydration from the Chemo, things looked good, he was given a release date. My mom asked us kids to all go to mass the day before dad was released because my mom had a mass dedicated to him and wanted us to go. We were spread around, so we decided on a time to go to mass and were all set to go to mass somewhere at 10:00 am. My twin brother, Scott, and I were with my mom getting ready for mass when the phone rang. I answered the phone, it was the hospital. My mom got on the phone, began crying and fell to the floor. Scott went to my mom and hung up the phone. All my mom could say was "We have to get to the hospital."
Mom, Scott and I went to the hospital, a little over an hour late my dad was gone.

I didn't know how to react to my dads death. I still don't. It's weird when people say they are sorry about my dad dying. I know peple mean well, but I never know what to say. I don't know if it's because I haven't fully accepted his death or because I don't want to accept his death. It's been 12 years and I still cry about it. I think about him every day and as each day passes, I miss him more.

I posted a picture of my dad holding Heather while trying to get Scott and me to stop crying. I think the picture was taken in November or December of 1975