The Father's heart

About losing a daughter to a broken world yet believing she can still find her way back

I watched the world reach out with ice-cold hands,
With sharp nails like talons,
Taking hold of you little by little...
Not in one great tearing,
But in a thousand quiet ways.

You were sunlight once,
Warm on my shoulders,
A laughter I could carry like a psalm.
And then the winds changed.
The voices around you,
Voices louder than mine,
Pulled at your heart,
Told you who you were,
Who you must be,
Who you must leave behind.

I saw you walk into places
That promised healing,
Promised truth,
Promised freedom...
And somehow left you
More fragile than before.
You stepped out of the clinic,
But the clinic did not step out of you.

I tried to reach you
Through prayer,
Through silence,
Through every trembling word
A father can speak
When he fears he is losing
What he loves most.

I asked God,
“Show me the door
Through which my daughter has wandered,
And I will follow her
Into whatever night she stands in.”

But He told me to wait for you,
Leaving me with the echo of your footsteps,
And the ache of your absence
Inside my ribcage...
Yet also with peace.

Still...
Still I believe
You can see through the dark.
Still I believe
A spark lives in you
That no storm can drown.
Still I believe
Home is a place your heart remembers,
Even if your feet have forgotten the way.

So I stand here,
A torch in my hands,
The light trembling
But unextinguished.

And I whisper into the wind:
“My daughter,
If you hear me,
Follow the warmth.
Follow the glow.
There is a way back.
And I am here.”