Miss You, Dad

I always was a Daddy’s Girl.


Hard to believe it’s been 18 years since my Dad took his own life. At the Catholic Church. On All Saint’s Day.

The adult in me understands that he likely suffered from bipolar disorder, and that he was in a very dark place. The adult in me sees that he did the best he could with what he had.

Tent camping in British Columbia, 1973

My Dad passed on his love of camping, despite being a City Boy himself.

But the little girl in me? She misses her Daddy. Who never met my husband. Who never saw me knit or make hats. Who never saw me play hockey (and I know he would have loved to see that!)

Suicide sucks. And I miss my Dad.