Below is a letter to my daughter, Eve. I haven’t given this to her yet, and I don’t know when I will. Maybe after I’m done wiping the mascara running down my cheeks…
My Beautiful Girl,
Last Sunday was the sixth Father’s Day without your Dad. It’s so hard to believe that so much time has gone by. Just 6 years old when he died, you were his “princess” and you and your brother were his reasons for living. I often wonder how much you remember about him and cannot even imagine how much your heart aches for one of his big hugs. Sometimes I see you holding pictures of him, and love when you wear his giant tee shirt to bed.
At times, I catch myself looking at you in awe of all you have been through in your short 12 years. Sometimes, just the smallest little thing you say or do takes my mind back to those days when your Dad was really sick and you and your brother put all your trust in me when I told you that we were going to be alright. In reality, I had no clue how things would turn out, but you believed in me, held his hand in the hospice bed, gave him a sweet kiss, and told him that it was ok for him to go to Heaven. The amount of strength and courage that took from my little 6 year old baby girl will forever be etched in my mind. I still see that strength and courage in you today and know that in many ways it was a gift.
Your passion is dance – you work so hard every day and put your heart, soul, sweat, and tears into it. So, was I surprised when you came to me and said you wanted to choreograph a dance in memory of your Dad? Ummmmm, NO. Was, I again, in awe of your strength and courage? Ummmmm, YES!
After just a few short weeks of planning and rehearsing, you competed in your school’s talent competition. You were the youngest contestant, but that didn’t faze you. You wanted to share your story and pay tribute to your Dad. The host interviewed you and you told the audience about your Dad and how you have wanted to do this for some time, perhaps to inspire others to share their stories through their passions.
Eve, there was not a dry eye in the auditorium that night. You did your Daddy proud – no doubt he was smiling down on his little princess! What you did was beautiful and brave, just like when you gave your Dad that last sweet kiss.
I want you to know that no matter many years go by, and our lives takes twists and turns, I will always be there noticing those little things you do to hold your memories tight. Thank you for sharing your story. I get the feeling that Daddy’s little princess is becoming a Queen!
I love you!