She grew up without a dad. He died when she was two years old, and she still doesn’t know the details of his life. This has made her a searcher. A hunter. Whole days have been devoted to searching through her basement, digging through old filing cabinets in a desperate attempt to find anything of his. A piece of paper with his handwriting. An old card from her mom. A picture of his best friend.
She’s learned to see the beauty of his life: to accept that she doesn’t know him, but she is a part of him. There’s no way of telling what her life might have been like with a dad. But every day she remembers to love everyone while she can.
It’s taken a long time to get over her feelings of bitterness. And some days she is still angry. But she tells herself she can still talk to him. That he is listening. She doesn’t think that you need to be with someone in the same life in order to connect. You can learn their stories. Small details of their lives. Fill in the blanks with your imagination if you need to. Then love them. Love. Love. Love.