My father was my hero, all throughout my life.
The father of eight children, he saw his share of strife.
When I was very little, he appeared to be so large.
In my eyes he could do anything, we all knew he was in charge.
He was a man of great strength both physically and in mind,
but in him there was a gentleness, he found ways to be outgoing and kind.
Many days of childhood were greeted with a kiss,
and songs to me as I awoke, those days I surely miss.
He made me feel so special, “Miss America” he would sing.
I knew I had my father's love. It gave me courage to do most anything.
From him I learned to stand up tall, to be proud of who I am.
Strength and determination were the qualities of this fine man.
As the years of his life dwindled down, that strength kept him alive.
Plus the unfailing determination to help my ailing mother have the care she needed to survive.
He loved her and his children, so much he gave up years of his life
caring for this woman, his soul瞞ate, his wife.
Day and night he struggled for years with her disease.
A lesser man would have been brought down to his knees.
With illnesses of his own, he still stood by her side
caring for her and loving her until the day she died.
Twenty days later his own time was at an end.
I lost my hero, my father, a man who was my friend.
A few years have passed, and life just isn't the same.
But as Father's Day approaches, I will celebrate his name.
With prayers to him and God above to stay by my side,
to watch over me and guide me, to look down on me with pride.
For I am my father's daughter, one day we will meet again.
But until then I will remember, and the love will never end.
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