One day you will be older. Today will be gone and so will tomorrow.
Someday, my answers to your questions will make more sense than they do now. And someday, whenever that day may be, you will look back at this; you’ll look back and be able to see through the misunderstandings; you’ll see through the misinterpretations, and the miscommunication. Someday, you’ll look back and you’ll see through the times when I was inpatient or I seemed angry. And hopefully, you’ll understand.
One day you will be older. Today will be far behind you and so will tomorrow. Someday you’ll be able to understand the answers to your own questions. Someday, you’ll have an understanding of why things happen. You’ll understand why people meet and why they choose to split apart (or need to). And someday, you’ll understand about the things I was never able to explain. At least, I hope you will.
One day you will be older. Yesterday and today will be far behind us. All I’ll have left of you are the memories a father has of his child. All I’ll have is the memories of you, my baby girl, tucked in bed with a pinkish nightlight glowing in your bedroom; your head is resting gently on the pillows while your body is lost in a sea of blankets and stuffed animals. Your curly blonde hair is wild around your face, and as I think of you this way, I think of the million times I promised myself, “I need to spend more time with her!”
It’s funny how time works. When you’re young, you somehow think time is always on your side. Somehow, I thought you would always be that little girl that fit in my arm. Somehow, I thought you would always look at me the way you did then. And somehow, I always thought I would be able to make up the time we missed.
I have this memory of you. Maybe I never told you about it. Maybe I should have told you about it, but anyway, I have this memory of you.
You were young and dressed warmly on a cold winter’s day. I took you for a walk on the beach the same as my father did for me when I was a little boy.
My little girl, this was my proudest moment of you. This was the proudest I could have ever been. And I closed my eyes on this day. I closed them as tightly as I could because I wanted to burn this picture deep in my memory. I never want to forget what I felt that day or how you looked at me.
One day you will be older. Someday will not only hold your hand but they will also hold your heart. One day you will be older and one day, if I am lucky, you will look back and see through the misconceptions of childhood. You will look back, and if I’m lucky, you will remember the nights I sang for you.
If I’m lucky, you’ll remember the bedtime stories and stories about the Muppets—the way Animal was actually a friend of mine but he moved away to Hawaii after the fame grew to be too much for him. If I’m lucky, you’ll look back and laugh about the stories I told you about Kermit the Frog and how we were friends until Miss Piggy came along.
When you’re older, maybe you’ll remember the house in the woods. Maybe you’ll remember the times in the playground when we played Hide-and-go-Seek. This is when we hid from an imaginary bear. We found a hiding place by the see-saw and said to each other, “The bear can’t get me up here!”
Maybe you won’t remember any of these things.
But I will
A time will come when you’ve grown and you’ve outgrown the little girl that fits in my arms. I know this because it’s already starting.
But Punky, no matter where you are or who you grow up to be; I will always hold these memories of you. You will always be the little girl that I brought into this world. You will always be my daughter. I will always be your Daddy, and someday, if I’m lucky you will understand the things I could never explain
Remember the song I played for you on our last drive?
“Someday your child will cry, and if you’ll sing this lullaby,
then in your heart, there will always be a part of me.”
That song I played for you is very true.
I listen to it often because it reminds me of how I love you.
“Someday we’ll all be gone, but lullabies go on and on.
They never die. That’s how you and I will be . . .”
I miss you