Is it normal that i can't get over the death of my father?

I didn't mean for this to be so long, but it just happened. Sorry about that, for those who choose to read this.
My father passed away three years ago and I can't stop thinking about him and how much I love him and miss him. He was more than just my father, he was my best friend, confidante and the one person I loved and adored above everyone else. He wasn't just any man. He lied about his age to join the Air Force in WWII, became a Lancaster Bomber pilot and stayed for the entire war even though they said he could go home. He was there for D-Day, Nuremburg...al the main battles. He was a prisoner of war when he was shot down and escaped...twice. They brutally beat him but he led his crew out of that nightmare. He was a war hero many times over. He went home to raise a family and while doing that got his Masters and became a respected teacher. He was brilliant and had a genius IQ but never bragged about it or tried to act superior. (When he got older, his mind never faltered. His body may have deteriorated, but his mind remained sharp). He was friends with anyone and everyone and always left people smiling. He never spoke unkindly about anyone or complained. He only cared about how others were doing and what he could do to help if they had any difficulties.
He treated me like a princess from day one and I never left his side. I was the surprise that showed up when he was almost forty. I idolized him as a kid, because he was my hero, my reason for getting up each morning and he was my dad. I told him so many times that if he wasn't my father I would have wished he was. He did so many magical things for me growing up, I can't begin to share them alll...I wouldn't know where to start. Wherever he was, you could be sure I was with him. At night as he watched TV, nothing made me happier than to lay beside him on the couch. He knew everything it seemed and was always patient when answering my zillions of questions that kids have. He was always there for me and we could talk about anything. When he got older he became more and more frail and eventually had to go to a rest home. I couldn't take care of him but made up for it by seeing him all the time. I moved back to my home town so I could be just minutes from him. I loved every minute of taking care of his needs. He was in and out of hospital and they told me fiour times he wasn't going to make it but he always pulled through., even pneumonia. Then one day when he was 90, he fell and broke his hip. The doctor told me it had to be repaired but that the odds were he wouldn't make it through the surgery, due to his fragile health. That was the fifth message of death. He pulled through.
For a month and a half he fought to get well. He developed pneumonia, but they cleared it up and he pulled through that. Then his kidneys started to shut down and he started to deteriorate. For a month and a half I stayed with him every day, then half way through day and night. I fed him, talked to him, joked with him and helped with his care. I held his hand at night. He had two fears....going into a nursing home and dying alone. They tried to kick him out of the rest home and put him into a nursing home, but I wouldn't let them. I hired more help for him to keep him there. They told me about five weeks in that he was palliative and wasn't going to be going home...death message number six, the final death message.
He was moved into a palliative room. He was now semiconscious. That night, as usual, I told him I loved him, and held his hand before going to sleep in a cot beside him. At 4:45 am I was stunned awake by what felt like an electric current going through my whole body. I knew instantly what happened. I jumped over onto his chest. He was still warm but his heart had stopped.
My father had died. His second wish was granted. He didn't die alone. I stayed in that bed with him holding him until a friend told me around noon that they need the room and it was time to go. Leaving him there was one of the hardest things I ever did.
I was told later and I thought so when it happened that when he passed over his soul went through me causing the feeling of electricity going through me. They said I should feel blessed.
Having him as my father made me feel blessed. Having him say goodbye that morning in his own way made me feel blessed.
Now I feel as though part of me is missing. There is a huge hole in my heart that won't heal. I don't cry everyday now, but I still do and the pain of him being gone doesn't get better. I went to therapy and it didn't help. I love him so much and I can "feel" his love for me also somehow. It "feels" like he is around me and I know some may find that odd, but it is what it is as they say. I wish so very much that he was still here. My family doesn't understand. I have four older siblings and none of them had the bond we had, which is a shame, because he was a wonderful, loving, caring father.
People say that he would want me to be happy and not upset about him being gone. I know that is true, but that doesn't stop the feelings in my heart. He was the world to me and always will be. He was my dad and if he wasn't I would have wished that he was.
I love you dad.