My Daddy was a proud man,
Who held his head up high.
I was afraid I would not make it,
Came his time, this life to fly.
I sat three days at his right hand,
I listened to every word he said.
It wasn't me he was conversing with,
But his late Mother, visiting instead.
I whispered,' Daddy is it pretty there?'
Whilst leaning across his bed.
I mopped his forehead with a towel,
This is what he said:
'No Sister, it is beautiful,
But I'm not going there today.
I can't do that to your sweet sister,
After all today is her birthday.
What kind of father would I be,
If I died this special day?
Sherry Ellen would be heartbroken,
Remembering me that way.'
'Now Daddy, that's just not true,
There will be heartache anyway...
I know it's going to mean much more,
Because you're here, not gone away.'
That was my toughest ever week,
Never in my life so sad.
Forced to watch life slowly drain,
From the world's most wonderful Dad.
His last four days I fell so ill,
I did not visit him again.
But he knew I always loved him,
Right up until that bitter end.
I felt this feeling in my heart,
I just wanted to see him today.
But when I called to check on my daddy,
My daughter said, 'Mama, Papa just passed away.'
I knew he was leaving without me,
But only God knew where and when.
I planned to go down later that day,
I'm Sorry Daddy, I missed you at the end.
You used to always ask us kids,
What will you do when I'm not here?
Well Daddy, I'm going to get down on my knees,
And Thank God for my forty-two years.
In Memory Of: Charles Ray Slayton
November 25, 1939/August 18, 2003
Ref: He's My Daddy by Virginia Smith
