Daddy's Little Girl by Lydia Waruszynski

Happy Father's Day to all celebrating, and a warm hug to all those who, like me, hold their fathers' memories close to their hearts today. I did not grow up with a father figure. My mother’s nurturing presence and female influence are what I've only ever known, including my life alongside my two sisters. Reflecting on the impact of growing up without a father has been a significant aspect of my life. What truly surprises me is how the journey defined by absence and longing has unexpectedly fostered personal growth. It's funny how life teaches us lessons even when our experiences feel somewhat void or incomplete. I was just six years old when my father passed away from heart failure. Although I knew that he would no longer be part of my life, little did I realize then that I was to embark on a journey shaped by the silence of his absence. My father’s death also became the backdrop against my lessons of love and life, a story rich in introspection, growth and resilience. True, I often found myself thinking about what could have been…like the idea of a “complete” family unit that my friends had, or a male role model to help navigate life’s challenges; a voice of fatherly wisdom to seek counsel from, or a comforting presence to offer reassurance in uncertain times. While I cherished my mom, the yearning for a different reality often tugged at my heartstrings. The void left by his passing became a silent companion, a poignant reminder of the solace and safety his presence once provided. I remember our walks in the nearby woods and how we picked wild strawberries together. I only wish I could go back to those conversations. How those moments are etched in my memory, a blend of sweetness and simplicity. I recall how he advocated for my sisters and me, shielding us from my mother's scoldings. My mother always said that she was the disciplinarian, balancing both traditional roles. In many ways, she was both mother and father, even while he was alive. She also said that my father wasn’t a man of many words unless he was writing or broadcasting in his role as a journalist, but one thing I remember is that he always had time to share a story or two while I sat on his lap. 

​I often find myself wondering if my love for storytelling and writing was born from those tender moments of picking wild strawberries together.
One thing I  know for certain is that I always cherished him in the quiet spaces of my heart.





As we celebrate Father's Day, I invite you to reflect on your own experiences and share how your relationships have shaped you. Feel free to leave a comment below and let's connect through our stories of love, loss, and the lessons learned along the way.

---