I stopped counting the years, but I know it’s been six. The void in my heart has doubled in size: I hurt not only for myself, I hurt for our daughter, too. To her never ending questions, I have no answers. Even if I knew, I wouldn’t understand. Even if I understood, it wouldn’t hurt any less.

Every time I look at her, I’m torn between the infinite happiness and never ending pain. ‘Daddy’s baby,’- I call her, when her manners are your manners, when her face expressions are your face expressions.

I tell her daddy watches over her. I say you can see her any time. ‘How?’ – she asks. I don’t know how, but I want her to know you are somehow present in her life. I tell her you live in our hearts. I say you’d be so proud of her.

I dream of you. Often. And just like our life together, the dreams are full of emotions. I get to feel your cool skin again, to see your beautiful dark eyes. Sometimes I get confused – how can you be alive? Other times I want to call you, get my phone out and start weeping, realizing you’ll never answer my call. Our daughter – she doesn’t dream of you. I’m happy that I do.

We are walking home, it’s been a long day. ‘I want…’ – she starts saying and suddenly goes quiet. I lean closer to her. Rush hour traffic drowns out her voice. ‘I want daddy…’ – she says. And instantly we are locked in a hug, cars and people passing us by.

The one thing I can’t give her is you.

And as I read her what I just wrote, she says I can’t give her the moon, either. She asks me to add this part. ‘It’s a really good ending,’ – she reasons. And I know she’s right.

I love you both with all my heart.