The Man Who's Loved Me the Longest

My biological father died

suddenly and traumatically

when I was 2 years old.

A fact of life I often think

has little effect on me,

but my therapists over the years

may disagree.

Diagnosis: Fear of abandonment

But what do they know?

I've never wanted for a father.

Because I've always had one.

My dad met my mom

in the parking lot

of our apartment building

as he was walking

with a friend

and she was carrying

my sleeping 6 year old self.

He says it was love at first sight.

By their 2nd date

they were talking marriage

so she promptly had him over for dinner

for us to meet one another.

I don't remember that night specifically

but I do remember how fiercely protective

I was of my mom back then

and I'm sure I was suspicious

of this man and his intentions.

The best attack my little mind could muster:

I broke out my baby albums

and showed this stranger

pictures of the only dad

I had ever ever known.

His response...

"He is very handsome."

Proof to my mom

that Gregory Cesena

was in fact an exceptional man

and the first example of his knowing

exactly how to handle me.

6 weeks after they met

my dad took me to the mall

to pick out a Mother's Day present.

I chose an engagement ring.

AND. HE. BOUGHT. IT.

A single mother myself

I now see the true magnitude

of those days.

Things I only once took at face value

look so different in today's light.

Like the fact that he took me to pick a present.

(Something no one had done for my mom

in the 4 years my dad had been dead.)

Or that he made her breakfast in bed.

(A tradition that still lives on.)

Or that he took the chance and made the jump

for a woman and her little girl.

A decision to

commit to them both.

A package deal.

A promise he has never, ever wavered on.

Even when I have been at my most unlovable.

Even when I didn't deserve it.

Not bound by blood

my dad's love is all the more exceptional.

I am a daddy's girl to my core,

always have been,

but there were so many

days, months, years

when I forgot.

Years full of

leave me alone,

I hate you,

you don't understand me,

door slam slam SLAM!

Tears,

screams,

"You're so unfairs".

Not understanding

my own  thoughts and feelings

about this world

and taking it all out on him.

My dad.

My easiest target.

I sympathize with my poor dad now.

What it must have been like

to tuck in his little girl one night

and have her wake up the next morning

a three-headed monster.

In an attempt to figure myself out;

who I was and what I needed,

I pushed him far, far away.

And I pushed and pushed

until I had made a stranger.

But only to myself.

My dad never stopped

knowing exactly who I was.

When I found out

I was pregnant with Lucas

my mom was the first to know.

And while I had sworn her to secrecy

she immediately told my dad.

(Because that's how they roll.)

I remember sitting across from him

saying words he'd already heard.

 The disappointment.

A few weeks after I had moved home,

I remember him

peeking into my room and whispering,

"I'm excited"

before heading back down the hall.

The quiet, simple way

my dad has always loved me.

My dad:

told us we'd never have pets

and then promptly gave me a puppy

and has been Dr. Doolittle ever since,

coached our sports teams,

draws funny faces

on the backs of our birthday cards,

went to work every single day

to provide us with everything we needed

and most of what we wanted,

has been married to my mom

for 22 years,

mans the scary music and ambiance

every Halloween while my mom sits

under the front yard tree

and scares the neighborhood children

(because that's how they roll),

sat down at the dinner table with us

every single night,

makes coffee for my mom every morning,

is the best example to my boys

of what it is to be a man,

loves his wife and his children

and his grandsons with a consistency

I have never known elsewhere.

He is unconditional incarnate.

I am who I am

because of the rock

upon which I stand.

Love you dad.