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.
