This is the photo that made me burst in to tears. This is the pudgy faced pre-schooler that my father knew. This is the little girl that rode her bike from the church to the senior's centre at my dad's funeral to honour him in her own way while we were all on motorcycles. This is the innocent child that watched her mom cry and ache with the deepest sorrow I have ever known. Those little shoulders had no idea the weight they would have to bear in the weeks to follow after this photo was taken. This sweet little soul isn't the same now. She can ride her two wheeler, she can do the monkey bars, she can read and count to one hundred and today she learned to write her name in cursive. She is a big sister, a grade oner, a six year old... She is someone that my father will never know. I can barely see the keyboard through the tears as I type these words. My grief still overcomes me regularly and fills me so completely that I feel I will burst, or melt, or scream.
Happy Birthday Dad.