Tribute to My Dad
I am above the heavens, looking at the clouds hovering beneath my plane.
I wonder how far it would take me to reach you if I asked the pilot to go higher, to take me all the way to heaven. I want to talk to you, Daddy, and not feel this pain in my chest—the heartbreak of losing you. How do I say goodbye to you, Daddy? A soldier, a gentleman, full of class and grace—but most of all, my dad. You taught my sister and me that, just because we were girls, didn’t mean we couldn’t do better than boys.
The moment you became my dad is forever etched in my memory: a seven-year-old little girl walking into a room, and you looking into my eyes with such certainty, showing me in an instant that you would protect me for all my living days.
I have so many stories I could share. Some you may have already heard, but sit with me for a while and let me tell a few you may not have.
It was Halloween in Germany. My dad wanted his two girls to dress up and have an amazing time. With the help of Mum, he created a skeleton costume that could truly scare and a witch costume for my sister. We both looked amazing and had a wonderfully spooky Halloween.
Each Christmas, with Mum’s help, Dad made sure we had the most presents under the tree. He wanted Christmas to always be a magical memory for his girls. He loved having family and friends around the table, bringing everyone together in love and joy.
Dad showed me love from a pure heart, never asking for anything in return. Each Christmas Eve, we went to church to honor the birth of Christ. He wanted us to understand the importance of faith and believing in God as the higher power, even when we were too young to fully understand why church was necessary every week. After church, he would sit with us, drinking hot chocolate, reminding us of how deeply we were loved.
My daddy was a soldier. I was proud to polish his boots and buttons, earning extra pocket money. He used his vacation time to take my sister and me on adventures, packing up the caravan and setting off as a family. With him at the wheel, he became our own personal guide, teaching us the history of each place we visited. From him, I learned early to respect other cultures, embrace traditions, and keep an open heart toward the world.
He also taught me what a man’s love for a woman should look like. His first love was always Mum. He showed us that respect, forgiveness, and never holding bitterness in your heart are the cornerstones of a lasting marriage.
Dad taught me to treasure the simple things. I remember mixing cement with him to build a barbecue grill, laying each brick carefully with purpose and pride. Watching Steptoe and Son together, even though I was too young for its jokes, was priceless. His laughter—loud, contagious, and unstoppable—remains one of my sweetest memories.
When I lost my husband, Dad became my rock. He called me every day, often staying awake for hours when he should have been resting, talking with me, and gently rebuilding me, brick by brick, the same way he had once built that barbecue. Every day he reminded me how proud he was of me. It pains me to know I’ll no longer hear those words from his gentle voice: You’ve got this.
My dad was a man of knowledge, a man of love, a man of integrity, a man of honor, and a man of service. He was the man I was blessed and proud to call my dad.
I know I will see you again one day. Until then, rest in peace, Daddy. I love you.
Love Lucia ❤️
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