(For my sister)

No father ever enjoyed spending time with his daughter
more than my Dad.
I remember when he built her a doll house,
read to her before bed,
and took an interest in every piece of art she ever made.

I remember when he built her a sandbox
brought her home a dog
and cheered for her at soccer games.

No father has ever spoken more of his daughter
than my Dad.
Every conversation:
“Did you hear what your sister did?”
“Did your sister tell you the story…”
“Your sister has a great heart.”

No father has ever loved his daughter
more than my Dad.
Whether spending time with her,
offering advice,
or just expressing his love,
his feelings were always clear.

No father ever stressed the importance of family
more than my Dad.
I spoke to my Dad every day
and when we spoke,
he would always ask,
“Did you speak with your sister?”
“Yes,” I would tell him.
And then he was happy.

No father has ever found his daughter more entertaining
than my Dad.
My sister would tell him stories about
snow, subways, and work,
and about all the idiosyncrasies of New York City,
and he would laugh and repeat them often.

No child has ever made a father more happy and proud
than my sister.
My father lived for every moment in my sister’s life.
He cared.
He listened.
He offered guidance.
He smiled and laughed.
He loved every story.
He looked forward to every visit.
He cherished every hug.
He appreciated his daughter so much.

My sister was the best child
for the best father.
She couldn’t have been any better
and neither could he.
And while the passing of our father is so sad,
and while we miss him so much,
I hope my sister finds peace
knowing that she was
the best daughter
to the best father.

My Dad loved nicknames.
My sister was
“Funny Face”
and “Monkey”
but the name my father called her more than any other
that epitomized his love for her
was “Little Girl.”
When she announced plans to visit, he would tell me,
“My little girl is coming to see me.”

And when he would see my sister, he would say,
“How’s my little girl?”
It was his term of endearment.
He always said it slowly, hugging every word,
with such a smile and so much love.
And I want my sister to know that for the rest of her life,
she will always be her father’s “Little Girl,”
playing with her doll house,
having fun in the sandbox,
kicking the soccer ball,
creating her art,
and making him laugh with her stories.
Daddy’s little girl.