Daddy's Little Girl

My dad was my best friend.

Every night we'd watch TV and I'd sit with him trying to beat him at Wheel of Fortune and outsmart him at Jeopardy!.

The truth is that I didn't really know what to write for a eulogy.

There are so many things I want to say and yet I can't speak. So many things I want to tell you yet I can't seem to breathe.

I know that you are up in heaven looking down and probably saying, "okay Michelle get to the point." But I want you to know that there are a million points I haven't told you and will never get to. Like stars in the night sky, I'll have to connect the dots of life without you here.

But that's okay.

When I held your hand as you took your last breath, I remember how heartbroken and yet relieved we all were. You were finally out of pain and yet it also meant that you were gone.

I often wonder why life does what it does - why can't we be free to live when the pain is finally over? Why do some diseases, like pancreatic cancer, mean we have to let go of the ones we love?

Dad, you were one-of-a-kind. You were patient. You were brave. You were generous. You were charming. You were gentle. But you were also strong. Fighting your own inner battles like a warrior and giving us the best of everything when you could.

You held our hand and told us that everything would be alright. And with you it always was. You taught Pat and Chris and me how to love and be loved unconditionally and without expectation.

You loved me when no one else would accept me.

I don't know how to tell you how much I love you, so I will sing.

Thank you for everything. We love you, daddy.

I'll always be your little girl.