Stay With Me, Daddy -

When you are sixteen, "Stay with me, Daddy" is silent. It is the grunt you give when he asks to drop you off three blocks from the movie theater. It is the roll of the eyes when he sets a curfew. Ironically, it is also the silent sigh of relief you feel when you see his headlights still waiting in the driveway, ensuring you get inside safely.

When you are thirty, "Stay with me, Daddy" changes shape again.

There is a specific kind of grief that comes with watching your hero age. It is the realization that the man who taught you to ride a bike, who scared away the monsters under the bed, who stood at the altar with tears in his eyes handing you to your spouse... cannot hear the punchline of the joke you just told.

In a world that tells us to be independent, to "cut the cord," and to stand on our own two feet, the plea "Stay with me, Daddy" feels vulnerable. It feels childlike.

It is the quiet panic when he gets winded walking up the stairs.

So, if you are lucky enough to still be able to pick up the phone and hear his gruff "Hello," do it. If you are lucky enough to hug him, don't do that quick, pat-on-the-back hug. Hold on for one second longer.