I heard my daughter whisper "I miss you, Daddy" on the phone – I buried her father 18 years ago

Eighteen years have passed. And somehow I survived.

I went from being a little girl cradling a newborn and feeling consumed by grief to a woman rebuilding her life with calm and determination. It wasn't brave or beautiful... it was necessary.

Susie was magnificent. She was sensitive and had Charles's eyes. And the same dimple when she smiled... though she did it more slowly, more cautiously, as if whatever she had to do had to be worthy of his smile.

As we grow up, questions naturally arise.

“What was Daddy like?” she would ask me, usually when my hands were busy picking at clothes, stirring soup, or wiping down kitchen counters.

I gave him what little I had. Stories that were getting boring from telling them so much. I told him about his horrible father jokes that made me roll my eyes. Photos of his childhood smile. The memory of him singing in the car, always out of tune.

She accepted them, but I could sense the emptiness behind her eyes.

For a long time, that was enough. Until it wasn't anymore.

It happened on a normal Tuesday evening. I was walking down the hall when I heard Susie's voice. It was low.

"Okay... I miss you too, Dad."

My body froze.

Dad. Dad?!