"I miss you
Most at Christmas time
And I can't get you,
Get you off my mind.
Every other season comes along
And I'm all right,
But then I miss you
Most at Christmas time."

The first time I think I sensed the loss in my life of growing up without a dad was one December morning, sitting on our house's steps, hugging a box of Cheerios and trying not to cry too loudly so my mom and sister wouldn't hear as this song played. I don't think I understood it at the time, because I remember these words and this melody calling to mind thoughts about my dad, and I remember trying to make my mind change the thoughts to somebody I actually knew, since I didn't think I could miss somebody I'd never known.

Today I drove to a nearby farmer's market in hopes of finding some flowers for sale. I was disappointed, however, but I had driven all that way, so I thought I'd make it worth it by spending some time just sitting in the park by a big fountain that kids were running back and forth through.

There were a lot of moms with their kids there, as well as some teenagers with their friends. I looked at all the moms and reasoned to myself that all the dads must be working. That was probably true. But I also didn't want to think about dadlessness.

I think God must've heard my thoughts, because almost as soon as I thought that, a little girl in a pink tulle skirt and a yellow T-shirt came across the park, with her daddy in tow. He held both of her hands strongly in one of his, swinging her up and down every few feet as they walked. She was delighted, but he was concerned that he was going to hurt her hands or wrists. He let go of her hands and showed her how to put them together in a manner that wouldn't hurt her, and told her to hold them strong like that. And then they continued on down the sidewalk, him swinging her up and down.

The two of them had my attention, and I watched as he took off his sandals, wiped his feet on the grass, and settled down, about 50 feet away from me. I think it was at this point that I started trying to smile at them, all big-like, in case any of the many people around me saw me watching them. I wanted them to think I was just enjoying the display of love and affection between them--not being perverted or anything like that. I worry about that a lot, 'cause I people-watch all the time.

But it got harder and harder to smile honestly as I continued watching them. I watched him lay back on the grass, and his sweet little girl plopped herself right down on his chest, much in the same way I flop onto Stephen's chest sometimes when we're at home and I'm feeling little-girlish. It's amazing to me the way I try to relive my childhood, pretending to be a child with her daddy when I do things like flop on Stephen's chest or make big doe eyes at him or hug him really tight. I was always really good at pretending.

It isn't enough. Obviously, I never really had a dad, and obviously, Stephen cannot be a replacement. But I still try to fill that hole. I still try to relive out my childhood, trying to pretend it's different than it was.

I altered my gaze between the kids and the fountain and the girl and her daddy. One time, when I looked back to the girl and her daddy, she had run a few steps away from him and sat down on the grass, but had turned to look back at him.

It was that part which made me begin to cry. The way she looked back to him, just to make sure he was still there, and still watching her. Her whole world was centered around him, her daddy, and his relationship to her. It made me think of that book Captivating, which I really didn't like, but perhaps I should reread.

I wanted to go up to them and thank the guy for being there for his daughter, as if that thought, voiced, could somehow make him always stay with her and never leave, as if I had any reason to think that he might leave her. But I knew if I tried to do that, I'd lose it and tears would just streak down my face, putting him (and me) in an awkward position. And that poor little girl--whatever would she have thought? :) So I just prayed instead. I prayed that she'd never have to grow up without her daddy. Who knows if it worked at all? Who knows if it will ever work? But it's all I could do.

I don't know what God was trying to teach me with this, but I figure he was trying to teach me something. So that's why I'm putting it down on record. Someday, in a month or two perhaps, I'll understand.

People tell me God is the only One who can fill that dadless void. I don't think I have a problem believing he could, but I have trouble believing that he would. I don't think God is in the business of filling voids, just helping people move on. I feel like he must have bigger problems to deal with, like murdering thieves and the like. I guess I think he's in the business of helping other people, not me, because other people have way bigger problems. I don't resent him for it or anything. It just feels like another mark to bear or something.

Hopefully, when I'm 40, I can write a book like Donald Miller's and say these things in past tense instead of present tense. Hopefully, when I'm 40, I will have healed like Donald Miller. Or found answers. Or something. Whatever it is I need to feel whole again.

Hopefully I sound a lot like Donald Miller did when he was 24.

-Stephanie

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