He called me his angel. My crib stood at the foot of his and my mom's bed in the German apartment we lived in during dad's military service. I apparently learned quickly to climb the railings and launch myself onto their bed in the middle of the night so that I could sleep snuggled as close to Daddy as I could possibly get.
I never grew out of wanting to be that close to my Daddy.
I went to work with him during the summers. I waited for those days -- I loved riding beside him in his truck and helping him unload the merchandise for each store. I felt so important when he handed me his feather duster and let me clean the shelves while he made his orders for the next week. But the best part of the day, when he and I would sit down and enjoy our little packed lunch -- often a pack of Nabs (his favorite thing) and a coke. In my head, we had amazing conversations....but somehow I am fairly certain that he sat and listened as I talked and talked and talked. He was always my favorite audience.
Tomorrow marks 24 years since I had him here. Twenty-four years without him to share Nabs. And 24 years without his making me feel like my every word mattered. Twenty-four years since he called me his angel.
I miss you, Daddy. Every single day.
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