Hi Daddy,
I’ve grown since you left—
seven years stretching long and wide,
not forever, but enough
to wonder if I’m who you hoped I’d be.
When you were here,
I was just a kid tangled in playground fights,
learning how to make friends
and find my place in the noisy world.
Now I’m almost done with high school,
with a year left to cross that stage alone—
watching friends walk with both parents smiling,
while I hold onto one shadow of you.
Sometimes a bad joke cracks the silence,
and I swear I hear your laugh,
or a song plays and I imagine you nodding along,
or a movie scene flashes,
and I wish you could’ve seen it too.
I wonder how you’d feel about my friends,
how you’d look at my boyfriends—
would you like them?
Would they be good enough for your little girl?
Mostly, I ask if you’re proud—
if I’m the girl you dreamed I’d become,
if I made you smile from wherever you are.
I miss you, Daddy.
I wonder if this ache
will ever ease enough
to say your name
without the hurt.
But I carry you,
always,
in the spaces between my steps,
in every ‘I love you’
I wish I could say one more time.
