I wasn’t there as much as I should’ve been. I was there more than anyone else. I was there more than I thought I could’ve been. I surprised myself. But I wanted to be there even more. He was proud, impressed. No one ever loved him like I did. And I feel damn proud knowing I gave that to him. I was his security blanket. His shoulder. His best friend. I wanted to be his daughter, but he needed more from me. So I gave up having a dad and opened up to all of the other things he would become. Whatever he needed. I would become all that he needed so that at the end of his ride he could look back and know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was loved. He was someone’s hero. He was perfect and exactly what someone wanted him to be.
I am my father’s daughter and because of that I knew at a young age what loneliness and isolation felt like. And I knew it wasn’t my father’s fault that I suffered such a fate. So I spent what little I had giving the only person walking the planet who would ever get me the one thing we both desperately longed for. A witness.
I was there to hear his confessions. And I was there to share his sins. And on his last day, I was there to hold his hand, close his eyes, say a prayer and swear to never forget his story.