At 11 years old – as I stared blankly at the stark walls of the ICU waiting room – I knew that December 1, 2002 would always belong in that second category. It was the Sunday that my dad died.
In the two months that followed, a password protected Word document on my dad’s old desktop computer, entitled “Sam’s World,” became my confidant. Despite neither number being particularly high, there seemed to be a direct, positive correlation between the amount of sleep I’d get each night and the amount I had written that day.
Wanting to wake up from the nightmare that kept me writing and frustrated that my words could not do my pain justice, I stopped at just over 100 free-verse poems. Self-conscious and self-critical, my words made me cringe. It was not long before I forgot the password to that document.
For the first time, I’m revisiting those words of the little girl I used to be. This is the ongoing story of what’s left of her, her grief and her memories. It’s a collection of the notable (and not so notable) moments for a daddy’s girl, 11 years later. And while I still may not have the perfect words, I’m sure as hell going to try.