A letter from a daughter to her father -not to grieve, but to remind him that love is still calling him to live.This one is raw. It’s personal & confession: contains a couple cuss words.It’s me... the daughter, the poet, the believer in second chances- speaking straight to my dad, the poet, the man who raised her.He’s fighting the symptoms that accompany some in their late 80s, and maybe his faith in healing too.But I still believe.So this is my way of saying thank you, I love you, and please… stay.Because healing isn’t just medicine. It’s hope.And sometimes, love is the loudest medicine of all.

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