Almost a year ago, my daddy killed himself.
I'm starting to be able to think of him without having a complete emotional breakdown.
My daddy took me to my sock hop and I danced on his feet.
My daddy put sparring gear on and fought me in the front yard to help me practice.
My daddy was there for me during my teenage years, loving me unconditionally.
My daddy caught me sneaking out and walked me to where I was going to make sure I was safe.
My daddy stayed up talking to me on the phone when I was drunk, emotional, and homesick.
My daddy listened to me cry when boyfriends and I split.
My daddy cried with me when my privacy was violated by someone I trusted.
My daddy stood up to family members when they were unfair and nasty to me.
My daddy was happy for me when I got pregnant with a boy I had been dating three months.
My daddy walked me down the aisle to marry that boy a year and a half later.
My dad never judged me for my stupid decisions.
Every time I talked to my dad he told me I was beautiful and that he loved me.
A year ago my world came crashing down around me, and I think I'm finally starting to be able to pick up some of the pieces and focus on the good that we did have.
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