It’s just a week… A week since I lost the first man who loved me.
The one I could go to as a little girl and get anything I asked for
The one who I had wrapped around my little finger
The one man who carried my picture in his purse almost all through his life.
And yet, somewhere down the line we seemed to fall out of love with each other.
At some point I could never be the daughter he wanted
I was too outspoken, too loud and just too much for him to take.
He struggled with all of my choices
As I did with some of his
We were bound in our attempts to keep my Mother happy
And sometimes clashed because of this.
Our problem was that while I like to discuss situations and feelings threadbare
Resolve issues and move on,
His method was to act as if nothing happened
That classic ‘forgive and forget’ that never works for me.
In the last few months of his life, we seem to drift further apart
My presence seemed to cause him irritation and other things were at play too.
But God knew that in our hearts we loved each other fiercely and respected each other a lot
The last thing he said to me a week before he passed was to remember that he loved me.
The last thing I told him a couple of hours before he passed was that I loved him too.
In the end, all that matters is that we, in our own flawed way, loved each other.
In the end all that matters is that he was the only Dad I had, and I the only daughter he had.
Rest in peace, Dad.
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