11 Years

Maybe it’s because I’m the mother of so many young daughters.

Or maybe because I’m expecting another little girl.

Or maybe because I simply realize how much he’s missed out on.

Despite all the maybes, I know I miss him.

Watching my husband put together a doll house for our girls yesterday afternoon made me reflect on my own childhood and the things Daddys do for their little girls.

It’s not so much the nevers that get to me now, eleven years after his passing.

No, it’s seeing my own daughters with their Daddy and struggling to remember my own.

He worked hard. He worked often.

I remember how tired he always seemed; the sheer burden of caring for our family of seven and owning multiple businesses to keep us above and beyond our comforts and needs.

Always working, always weary.

A quiet man; easily angered, yet slow to react.

I don’t know that any of the five of us kids are much like him. Not really.

He didn’t raise us to be like himself.

Simple.

Dedicated.

I miss him.

I miss how he always wanted more and better for us; from the time we were just babies until his passing.

He wanted what every parent wants for their child; better than they had for themselves. That much was always clear.

While he did his best make sure of these things in his life; it was his death that sealed the deal.

My father’s death is easily the single most defining moment of my life.

When I close my eyes I can still feel the unusual warmth of that February day. I can feel my aunt’s arms around me, shielding me from the inevitable. I can hear my own shaky voice.

So simple, so genuine; my daddy.

My girls (and boys) are beyond blessed to have a Daddy even better than my own. David works hard and long for this family too; but even more, he’s there for them in the every day.

He builds doll houses, plays Princess Yahtzee, and has been known to sport a tiara or two.

My daddy worked so hard and so long that it killed him.

I have no memories of games and Barbies; it wasn’t his style. He was tired and strained, but his love for us was obvious. It was there in the vacations he planned every year, there in the daily discussions on news and events, there in the silly way he sang while making Sunday morning breakfasts. His love was there when he was there.

I pray my girls have a lifetime’s worth of memories with their Daddy, instead of just 15 years.

Soon, the time will come when I will have spent more years without him, then I did with him…but his legacy, his drive, his devotion to family; I live these things every day knowing he left us before he could ever enjoy them himself.

I love you Daddy.

June 25th, 1947 ~ February 22nd, 1998

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