Whenever daddy fell asleep on the couch, I brought him a blanket or a pillow. I used to think I was being helpful. I used to think I was doing something big for him. I used to think a blanket and a pillow would be his only needs.
She takes off his socks and helps him put on his pyjamas. I can’t watch him weaken. I can’t stand by the door and watch him fall, right before my eyes. I can’t look at him when he is in pain, when he is too tired to eat, when he is holding on to the wall.
When I was little, daddy had a hard time walking up the stairs and whenever we took walks, he was always behind, taking slow steps. The doctors couldn’t help daddy and I didn’t understand how much he was hurting inside. He was good at hiding his pain. Behind his sincere smile, behind his hopeful eyes, there was a deeper wound that no doctor could heal.
I stand by the door and watch my father as he struggles to bend. I stand by the door and I want to reach over, give him my hand, and tell him that I will always be by his side. I want to tell him that I love him, that he has always been my tree, my guard, my protector. I want to reach out to him and ask him not to fall.
Daddy please don’t fall…
My father goes to bed and we close his door. He will get up in the morning and he will smile again, as if nothing is wrong. He is going to be the father he has always been, and in his eyes, I will always be his little girl.