Time marches on

This Saturday will be two years since my dear Daddy passed away.
The world has moved on, and, so, in many ways, have my family and I.
I have had a baby girl, my boys have grown by leaps and bounds, and my husband has lost portion of two fingers, creating a whole new bevy of sick humor.
My mom has a boyfriend, which is not something I ever thought I would hear myself say.
The home I grew up in was sold and my mom moved into town and into a new home.
My brother became human, although he's still ac capitalist pig.
My nephew is driving.
That is just some scary shit.
I know that time marches on, despite our efforts to hold it motionless.
The pain is no longer crippling, just wrenching.
I can still smell him, that mixture of sweat and after shave that was unique to him.
I can still hear him calling me Punk and laughing at my boys.
I know what his face would look like staring at my baby Punk girl. That mixture of awe and amusement that my boys instilled with a healthy dose of protectiveness.
Some days, I can almost feel his holding me, like when I was little, curled up in his lap while he rocked me.
Like I do with my own children.
I miss him. I love him. I would love to see him one more time.
It seems, no matter how much time has passed, no matter how old you are, some days, all you want is your Daddy to hold you and tell you everything's all right.
Or to sit around the table with you and your brother and embarrass your mother. Either way, you miss him. You want him around.
No matter what, a girl always needs her Daddy.