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A Letter to My Daughter on Father's Day

It’s Father's Day today. My sixth one with a living child, but technically my eighth. My first one came just three weeks after you died. 
The first one was really strange. People told me happy Fathers Day, but I couldn’t hold you. I didn’t feel like a father.

Every year since then the holiday has been overwhelmed with your brother and sisters, June, Jonny and Cameron. But there’s always that moment where the awkwardness and sadness creeps in.

Today was a weird one. I got up early to get the kids ready for church, wrapped up in the necessity for quiet and efficiency while Mom was sleeping off her night shift, and we got into the car at 9:15 and I hadn’t thought of you once. The girls started fighting over a little pink pocket Bible, and when I took it to see who’s name was written in the front, your name was there. Maggie Mabee Colwell. The grief overwhelmed me.

I gather myself and put on my sunglasses to cover my tear-swollen eyes, but it didn’t take long for the tears to return. …

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