I am sorry about your father.
I am sorry about your father. I assume because you are so nice that he must have been a great person.
I wrote you a small poem. It may not fit at all but I thought you may want it.
Dads, when they are broken
Are hard to find.
They hide behind bed boards and bathroom doors.
Counting lost socks.
Wishing away tears they can only mumble about shaving one last time.
They can wistfully look for Mom, if she is there.
And if finally cornered and exposed as human
Dad will offer a hug good bye
And a “meet you later” wink.
