I was a daddy’s girl.

Even when my own children arrived, I remained a daddy’s girl.

Five years ago this girl lost her daddy.

I could recount the story of where I was when I heard the news, but I can’t invite that chest-cracking pain into my day.

I wish I could sit one more time, holding my father’s hands.  I miss the possibility of his hello; I miss the ever-ready energy that he brought to life; I miss the smile.  I miss the calm that seeped into all the cracks of my life just because he loved me.  Absolutely.

Norman Scott Strickland: September 14, 1928-July 16, 2006

I buried my father in the sky. Since then, the birds clean and comb him every morning and pull the blanket up to his chin every night.

From the poem Little Father by Li-Young Lee