“I want my daddy.”
With tears falling on my cheeks, I uttered these words.
“I want my daddy.”
As a grown 40-something, these words ever so gently escaped my lips.
It was the first time in almost 6 years after my dad’s death that I felt such an urgent need for him to be here in the flesh.
Like, I wanted to sit face to face with him, tell him what was going on. And I wanted to ask him, “what do you think about this?”
And I wanted to sit and listen to him as he told me everything he thought about it.
I wanted to tell him how I was hurting and hear him say, “it’s gonna be okay.”
But at that moment, I felt like 7-year-old me, who skinned her knee rollerskating down the hill near our childhood home.
I’d taken my new skates out for a spin and thought rolling down the street crossing of the railroad tracks would be a cool idea.
Well, you guessed it. It didn’t go so well.
All I remember, one moment I was rolling.
Then the next, I was falling.
Or more like sliding.
My right knee softened the blow for every other part of my body.
You know what, I still have the scar to prove it.
I screamed in pain, scrapped my knee to the white meat…
With mom and dad at work, our next-door neighbor heard me from across the street and came to my aid.
Thank you, Jesus.
She was also a nurse, so she knew what to do.
But all I could think at that moment was…I want my daddy.
And that’s just how it is some days.
Some days I still just want my daddy.
Most often his mere presence made everything a little better.
A little sweeter. A little livelier.
He’d speak a few words to us when we got hurt or when things were hard, “Oh it’ll be okay”.
And it all seemed to be so.
I imagine I’ll always have moments of just wanting my daddy.
To be here and not there.
And maybe you do too.
Sitting with you and thinking of you as Father’s Day nears,
Natasha
For a companion and compassion look at grief, pre-order my book Can You Just Sit with Me here.
