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Alone in my room. On the way to school. In the long lonely hours when my little body ached for his arms to wrap around me. Longed to cuddle up beside him on his recliner just one more time and watch another Turner Classic Movie, bathed in the sent of his aftershave, snacking on roasted peanuts.
I thought I was finally “over it.” Over his passing. Looking back, it never really went away. A girl never stops wanting or needing a daddy…
I just filled the slot with other stuff. With boys and food and television and staying up all night with friends. With distractions that made me forget for a while. With any form of attention that might resemble love.
Without a dad, I have this overwhelming sense of singularity. Like everyone else arrived on earth as part of a tribe, in a group of kindred spirits, with history and depth and ties that bind. And then there’s me. Just.me.
I wish that I had learned, in my earthly father’s arms, that both of us were really being cradled by One so much more powerful.
Each day at nap time, my toddler runs giggling into my arms. We call it “cozy.” Our cuddle time before he falls asleep. We whisper, “Are you ready for ‘cozy’?” And he runs, ecstatic, arms flapping, smile beaming.
No matter what happens to me, to my arms, I want each child to know there are eternal arms waiting to hold him, much stronger than my own. (click to Tweet)