He brings out a box of tissues and drops them by the large armchair as he sits back. ‘Just in case,’ he adds with a smile.

Senior Paul Frank doesn’t mind talking about the father that adored him for 17 years, but the pain of his loss never goes away.

Mark Clifford Frank was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in the summer of 2005. He was experiencing pain and discomfort so he went to the hospital for a CT scan. Tumors were found and the results were fatal. His cancer was discovered at stage four, which is a deadly level. He lived with cancer for a year after which his health really began to crash. According to Paul, his decline was sudden and quick. On Oct. 11, 2006, he passed away at age 46.

“I had 17 years with him so I find a little bit of him in everything I do,” Paul said.

The last couple weeks of Mark’s life were spent at home. Hospice came to take care of his needs so he could spend his last moments with the people he loved in the place he loved. But, for Paul, that time was the most painful–he was watching his dad fade away.

“I was angry for a few days [following his death] because I didn’t think it was fair,” he said. “I was also happy because that last week was hard. He could barely speak and he was in his bed for four days. He couldn’t even sit up the last few days. It was hard to see him like that.”

While his dad was in terrible shape, he still strived to be active in Paul’s life. The weekend before he died, there was a cross country meet that Paul was to compete in. However, Mark couldn’t leave the house in his weak condition. Paul understood why his father couldn’t be there, but much to his surprise, when running along the course he met an unexpected visitor.

“When I went around the loop he was there watching in the car with my mom,” he said. “That was the last time he ever saw me run.”

Paul revisits these fond memories and remembers how close he was to his father. Even as he retold these stories, his voice was full of emotion and meaning. He explained that he and his father loved to go to Cavs games together as a time for them to share in each other’s lives. The pain he feels now has become part of his life.

“The hardest thing I found is when something happens and I think I can tell my dad about it, and then I realize he’s not there,” he said.

After Mark knew he was going to die, Paul said he could see his behavior change.

“He did what he wanted and didn’t care what people thought,” Paul said. “He was like ‘I’m just going to enjoy my time.’ He was happy to be alive and it helped him appreciate everything. I think that appreciation rubbed off on me.”

The experience was equally difficult for his sister, Emily Frank. She had just started college at The University of Akron, and Paul said she had a hard time being away with their father’s recent death. He also explained that he and his mother, Nancy Frank, are closer than ever. They lean on each other for support. Paul also reached for other help in coping with his desolation.

“Running helped. Being able to do something that I loved and being with the teammates who supported me helped,” he said.

However, the pain began to build up and about six months following his death, Paul received professional counseling.

“I needed to talk to somebody and get help,” he said. “It was really helpful.”

While Paul’s outlook on life may be completely changed, his persona has not. His smile is still contagious, and he loves to make people laugh with his signature personality. Getting through the day isn’t as painful as it once was, but certain memories still trigger severe sorrow.

“Things that used to bother me don’t bother me at all,” he said. “It could be worse. [Our family doesn’t] worry about things like money. We do what we think is important. I have a bigger picture of things.”

Paul never needed the tissues and as he remembered his dad trying on a Varejao wig at the Cavs game, he even laughed a little. He doesn’t need tears to show that there is a special place in his memories just for his father. Mark Clifford Frank lives on in Paul’s everyday memories and newfound outlook.

“You never know when it’s going to be over, so you can’t worry about the things you can’t control,” he said.