Daddy

In loving memory of my father.

I miss you, daddy.

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It’s hard being a girl.

It’s even harder being daddy’s little girl.

I’m not talking about the stereotype where the girl has her dad wrapped around her finger and she plays him however she wants. No, I was more than that.

I didn’t have my future made in the shade and I never bought nice clothes or did my hair every five minutes on daddy’s credit card.

He didn’t even own a credit card.

I’m not a spoiled brat, but I admit I was spoiled. Whenever I needed something – from dolls to school books – dad got it for me within months.

I was his only daughter after all; his sunshine, his everything – like he used to say.

And he was the only man in my life for the last 19 years and I loved him, I loved him so much, maybe a little too much. He was my everything as well.

I remember when I was little, we would go to the grocery store – our every Saturday morning routine - and meet up with neighbours or friends and they would ask whom I loved more, mom or dad.

“Dad and mom,” was my constant reply.

When my parents were fighting, I always took his side even if he was the bad guy, and there were times when they fought badly. So badly they almost got a divorce once and it was worse than a nightmare. I thought I would lose it because I couldn't fathom the idea of my parents being apart, of having to split myself in two, of not living with both of them. It was the first time in my life when I cried so hard I ran out of tears and I could feel my world crashing down.

It was also the first - and last - time I saw dad crying.

Nothing hurts more than seeing one of your parents cry.

He was as stubborn as a mule, and I inherited that from him. We fought daily over the most foolish things and even after hours we would still be going at it. Neither of us would ever admit they were wrong. Nevertheless, I never stopped loving him.

He was such a good man, and everyone knew that. He was good at everything, from carpentering - his career - to fixing computers, washing machines, central heating, doing a builder's job and I believe he could have even built a car if he had to.

He also mastered the role of father.

I will always remember the good times when daddy was alive.

Until I turned seven, I could only fall asleep to the sound of his voice. I didn't need to be read to; I just needed to hear dad's voice.

"How was I when I was a baby?" I would ask him every night.

"The most beautiful and quiet angel," he'd say before fully immersing in memories of when I was just a few months old: how I'd fall asleep on his chest, how he'd always change my diaper and feed me every morning before going to work, how he'd play with me after coming home and how I once bit his chin so hard he got a scar.

Sundays were always our day, our family day. After lunch, mom, dad and I would watch a movie or two and then go out for a walk. We didn't miss one Sunday. Not until dad got sick.

He taught me how to ride the bike, he taught me how to go on roller skates. He was always the one who wiped my tears and cleaned my bruises when I fell. And I fell a lot. I still do.