No matter how old I get, I still find myself needing my Dad.
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Not just for advice, but for the quiet strength that always came from his presence.
He never had to say much — just being there made the world feel steady.
When life got hard, I used to look at him and somehow believe that everything would be alright.
Now, I walk through the same storms without him, and it feels different.
There’s no one to call when I don’t know what to do, no one to make me laugh when I’m too tired to smile.
I still hear his voice in my head, telling me to be brave, to keep going, to never give up.
And even though he’s gone, I live every day trying to make him proud.
A father’s love doesn’t end when he’s gone — it lingers in every decision, every memory, every heartbeat that still whispers, “You’re my girl.”
Because a daughter never stops needing her Dad. Not at five, not at fifty, not ever. 💔
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