She never knew what she meant to me, all she saw was a man with an unloving stare. She never saw me watching her sleeping; never saw me secretly hoping she would do well. Never saw me struggle with my demons, never heard me cry at night as I begged God to help me.

I wanted to be there for her. I wanted to show her that I loved her, but for some strange reason it was more comfortable this way. I hated arguing about her, hated that she had to overhear me call her names. I knew no better; the same was done to me, only worst.

There were times she would look me in the eyes. I would look away too ashamed of the abuse I caused her to suffer. Too afraid to say, I'm sorry for fear I would have to face her, and explain to her why I treated her so unkind. I didn't know how to speak from my heart, never was taught to say what you feel inside.

Now as I watch from Heaven, I ask God to grant her safety, and most importantly give her a loving heart. And that on each Father's Day she remembers me as the man who taught her to treasure family before it's too late.