A thin streak of sunlight peeks cautiously over my bedroom window sill: the beginning of a new day. You awaken me from a dreamy subconscious and carry me in your strong arms to your bedroom. You whisper in my ear, “I love you, Princess,” and you kiss my mother. I stand at the window in sleepy anticipation, waiting for the perfect moment to wave good-bye as you leave for work. What seems like years later, you return home in the bright, cheery sunlight of mid-afternoon. I wait for you at the front door, my face pressed against the cool glass. The instant your foot steps onto the front porch, I throw the door open, jump into your arms, and give you a big kiss.

  • • •

Laughter resounds around the room as our family sits down for supper. Your eyes crinkle, evidence of your delight. My mother turns her head with the ringing of your laugh, her eyes brimming with adoration. Your hand slaps the counter top rattling the cups and plates as you retell an event from your day. The rest of us, not seeing the humor you thought had been obvious in your story, are unable to laugh with you, but we all enjoy your smile, and having you at home is a gift all its own.

  • • •

A stream of tears rolls down your cheeks. “Are you crying?” My disbelief seeps out between my questioning words. The blanket that had been loosely balled in my palm moments earlier now rests beside my leg. “Why are you crying?” I ask again.

“I’m not sad,” you reply. “I know you are happy and it makes me happy too. I can’t help but cry.” Your statements crash over me like a powerful wave; your deep affection for me is reflected in the tears spilling over your cheeks.

  • • •

I creep excitedly into your bedroom, my toes relishing the texture of the fuzzy carpet. I perch on the end of the bed by your feet, my usual spot. The soft sheets muffle the silly chuckle cascading over your lips: your reaction to that idiotic joke you tell every night at bedtime. It’s late, and your non-lucid comments crack a smile on my normally placid face. The tick tick tick of the clock is an awful reminder that I should return to my own bed and try to sleep. But your gleeful giggle pulls me back, and I stay a few moments longer.

  • • •

My hand is grasped tightly in yours, and your arms are a protective wall encompassing me. Pain jabs my heart like the weapon of a murderer. But every once in a while, an affectionate squeeze travels through your palm to mine, reminding me of your presence. I am not alone. I lift my head and meet your eyes. A constant trickle of tears flow from your compassionate eyes.

“I know this hurts and that you’re in a lot of pain right now,” your words catch in your throat. “I can’t promise that it will never hurt again, but I can tell you this: you’re my daughter, and you are very precious to me. I love you more than I could ever say.”

I love you too, Dad.