It doesn’t matter that the picture is a little blurry. It’s one of my favorites. I’m not even sure if it’s me or Melody in your arms, but that’s not the point. The feeling I get every time I look at it—that sense of being small and safe and completely loved—that’s what matters.
You were the one who introduced me to Jesus. Trusting and loving Him came easily because the two of you were so much alike. Quick to forgive, patient, and always ready to listen. And both of you loved me no matter what.
I know I disappointed you more than a few times. But I also know you loved me through every mistake and stumble. Back then, I took that feeling of being cherished and protected for granted. I didn’t realize until later that not everyone with a father had what I had.
I’m 67 now, with kids and grandkids of my own, and I’ve tried to give them what you gave me. But I sure could have used your advice on so many occasions. No matter how many years it’s been since you went to heaven, I still miss you more than words can say. Grief is a funny thing—it never leaves, and that’s okay. It shows up at the strangest times, like an old friend reminding me of how much I miss that connection. Father to daughter. When it’s severed, there’s nothing quite so lonely.
So, if you’re allowed to peek over heaven’s banister, I hope you read this today. I hope you know I’m wishing you the best Father’s Day ever. I hope there’s an incredible choir up there for you to lead, and I hope you know that down here, your kids miss you terribly. We were so lucky to have you. And we thank God for you every single day.
Happy Father’s Day, Daddy.
Pam Torres | Author 