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  • Writer's pictureMichelle Haskell


I was getting ready for a funeral, when my 3-year-old daughter walked in. She normally comes in, bouncing around, and does her own make-up beside me. But today was different. Today, she could sense my demeaner was different. She could sense the sadness and somberness of the morning.

She asked me where I was going. I tried my best to tell her in the simplest of terms… I was going to say goodbye to my friend’s daddy. In typical 3-year-old fashion, she began to play the “why” game with a series of questions I was not particularly prepared to answer.

She wanted to know where. Where he was at. Where he was going.

She wanted to know why. Why I had to say goodbye. Why he had to leave. Why he wasn’t coming home. Why he had died. Why was he sick. Why he had cancer. Why he was in Heaven.

She wanted to know if I was sad. If my friend was sad. If my friend was crying.


A little while later, as I was getting my purse and coat gathered to leave, she brought me her phone. A very beloved fisher-price toy phone with a worn-down sticker and a slight rattle noise.

“Mommy, here..” she said, “this is for your friend… so she can call her daddy.”







I hugged her. I cried. I reassured her I would give the phone to my friend so she could call her daddy. And I did just that following her father’s services.


A phone.. so she can call her daddy.. in Heaven..

A beautiful reminder from the innocence of a child.

A beautiful reminder of the spiritual peace and comfort.

A beautiful reminder to continue his legacy.

A beautiful reminder that he is still with us.

A beautiful reminder she can still talk to him.


If you haven’t done so today, this is a beautiful reminder.

A beautiful reminder to pick up a phone.

A beautiful reminder to talk to someone.

A beautiful reminder to call your daddy.


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