As a girl, I would run to my daddy, jump on his
lap and play.
He would tickle me and call me his little princess.
I would giggle and look up at him…and see the
mutual adoration in his eyes.
His broad shoulders…big hands….and large frame….
a physical representation of what
was to protect me the minute I took my first breath.
He was my protector…my hero…my provider.
He would melt whenever I pouted my lips…obviously
trying to get my way.
I was daddy’s little girl…daddy’s little angel.
Nothing was too good for his baby…his angel.
As I grew up…he would meet my dates at the door.
I remember him giving them the 3rd degree…
making them shake in their boots.
Gosh…he really embarrassed me, you know.
Yet, my heart was warm…because I know my daddy
would do anything for me.
He stood with momma…tears in his eyes…
As he watched his angel walk across that stage
and get her diploma
He cried buckets when he watched me graduate
from college only 4 years later.
Then he had to walk me down the isle and give me away.
He had to let his angel go!
He held tight to my hand…hesitant to give it to my
With intensity, he looked at my future husband and
said, “This is my daughter, take good care of her.”
Three years later, he welcomed his grandson in the world.
He was proud that we named him after him.
He was a proud grandpa. He wanted to be called “Pa Pa”.
A dream I have from time to time…mere fantasies
A black hole that I’ve tried desperately to fill
Man after man.
Trying to find the daddy that I never knew…..
Trying to find myself….
An empty space...extending far down in the pits of
No void is so deep than the absence of one's father.
I’m grown now and it still hurts….
Now my babies are facing the same…