Today is the second anniversary of my Dad’s death, and I’ve tried four times to write something worthy.
But I just don’t have enough of those words today.
So here’s a pic that reminds me of him. It makes my heart leap with the memory of being a little girl whose Daddy was her hero.
He would lift me in his huge, safe arms, fling me high into the unknown, and then always, always be there to catch me again... no matter how old I got.
He let me stand on his feet, his knees and his shoulders; he let me see and understand the world from where he stood.
He was the one to tell me (through a weird twist of appointments and a shared GP) that I was going to be a mother for the first time.
He was a great dancer.
He smelled so good.
And although sometimes they could be few and far between - he gave the very best hugs.
Today, I miss my Dad – that little bit more than always.