“I want my daddy,” with tears falling down my cheeks I uttered these words. 

“I want my daddy,” as a grown 40-something these words ever so gently escaped my lips.

And I couldn’t shake it . . . I tried. I curled into a ball on the bed and cried with those words revolving in my mind. I want my daddy. I want my daddy.

It was the first time in almost six years after my dad’s death that I felt such an urgent need for him to be here in the flesh. Like I wanted to sit face-to-face with him, tell him what was going on. I wanted to ask him, “What do you think about this?”

And I wanted to sit and listen to him as he told me everything he thought about it. I wanted to tell him how I was hurting and hear him say, “It’s gonna be okay.”

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I’d received news earlier that day that left me in a bit of a shock. News that hurt and hurt bad. So at that moment, I felt like 7-year-old me who skinned her knee roller skating down the hill near our childhood home. I’d taken my new skates out for a spin and thought rolling down the street crossing of the railroad tracks would be a cool idea. Well, you guessed it. It didn’t go so well.

I remember my arms stretched wide feeling the breeze of the wind against my skin. And a smile that couldn’t be wiped from my face (or so I thought). All I remember is one moment I was rolling. The next, I was falling. Or more like sliding.

My right knee softened the blow for every other part of my body. And you know what? I still have the scar to prove it. I screamed in pain—scraped my knee to the white meat. With Mom and Dad at work, our next-door neighbor heard me from across the street and came to my aid. Thank you, Jesus. 

My neighbor was also a nurse, so she knew what to do. But all I could think at that moment was I want my daddy. And that’s just how it is some days. Some days I still just want my daddy.

Most often his mere presence made everything a little better. A little sweeter. Livelier. He’d speak a few words to us when we got hurt or when things were hard, “Oh it’ll be okay.” And it all seemed to be so. 

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I imagine I’ll always have moments of just wanting my daddy. To be here and not there. And maybe you do too. Or as I’ve come to realize, I’m one of the lucky ones to have known and experienced a loving earthly father. So, if you are navigating through the grief of not knowing your earthly father, have a strained relationship with him, or like mine, he is no longer here on earth, I see you.

We have a Heavenly Father that in this time and at all times is so near to us and close to us. He sees. He knows. And He understands exactly how you are feeling in this season. And that is the comfort we have today and in the days to come.

The Psalmist David said, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18, NIV).

I hope you know that you are not alone. You are never alone. I’m sitting with you and our Heavenly Father God is sitting with us.

Originally published on the author’s blog