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Father's Day 2013

Daddy,

When I was a little girl it was always the same routine. My favorite part of the day-it's end- when I got to see you. It was always the same- the lock turning loudly in the living room and the jingle of keys, you trudging into the bathroom and then the running of water as you attempted in vain to wash the grease from your hands, then finally you'd come to my room and walk up to my bed and I'd try to scare you by pretending I was asleep and then yelling "Boo!" and you'd always pretend to be scared for me. I'd get up and eat half your dinner while I talked to you about my day before you made me back to bed.

This is how I remember you. This is what I remember. I don't remember how the cancer robbed you of your sparkle in life or the nights when you ignored me when I really needed you. People ask me about you and this is what I tell them. I tell them how wonderful of a father you were to me- more than a father- a 'daddy.' Such a term so loosely used that people forget the difference between the two. You were so much more to me.

A family friend of ours helped you when you needed to move some things from the attic. You told him about this. You told him this memory of mine, something I had deemed as something that was solely mine to treasure- long forgotten by you- buried beneath the pain and the hurt of today and the years since past. You told him it was your favorite memory. So I guess that's our memory. I hold onto that. I only wish your other daughters had been able to see the man that you were. I hope that my memories and stories will do you justice in the end- but I know they will pale in comparison to who you were- are- to me.



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