When’s Daddy Coming Home?
Maybe you’ve had this question, too. Read or listen… to discover the answer.
Read or listen… you’ll know which one helps you find the answer to this important question.
The woman in front of me begins our work today by sharing that she's worried something may have happened to someone she knows. She says she heard on the news that someone may have jumped from a local bridge… and now she can't stop wondering if it might be them.
Sensing a lot going on between the lines, I ask her to take a breath and to make some space for the little girl inside. We've done this kind of work before, and she trusts herself to follow the light within—accompanied by mine.
I softly ask, "What's that little girl saying?" Looking lost and sad, the woman replies, “When's daddy coming home?”
Leaning in with care and hope, I reply, “That little girl lives inside of you. She always has, but she thinks she’s still living in the past. What do you want to tell her that she didn't know back then, but you—her future Self—know now?
I’m here to help you if you need it."
With tears flowing, the woman begins to find her voice. “Hey little one, daddy's been gone for a while now. He wished he could have been here longer, but his body gave out… and it couldn’t be the vessel he needed. He's in heaven now, helping God do their work.”
The woman tears up as she delivers—and receives—the words she never heard from her mom when she was 9-years-old. She saw her father's car in the garage and his clothes in the closet. She knew he had been sick, and was no longer there… but she kept looking out the window waiting for him to come home.
Thinking about how I’ve had similar thoughts about my own parents from time to time, I ask, “What did your mom tell you?”
She said, “Don’t ask stupid questions. Your father is dead and left me to do everything. You need to stop crying and get your homework done. I don't have time for your foolishness. I have too much to do, and you need to help me.”
Shaking my head, tears well up in my heart—flowing inside and between us. As I hold the little one within me, I look into the eyes of the lovely woman sitting in front of me, around the age of my daughter. I'm speechless, even though I'm her therapist.
Finally, I say, “I can feel my light… and I know you can help the little one feel yours, too.”
She gazes into my eyes and nods as the rivers of tears begin to slow to a trickle—in both directions.
I gently ask, “What do you see or hear now?”
Pausing a bit, she responds, “The little girl is right next to me. She's not saying much.”
I gently say, “Do what you know how to do that helps so many close to your heart.”
She starts to move her body in rhythm—like she's dancing. I just watch… as my heart lights up with a smile.
Yeah, “She loves to dance. We're moving through mountains of pain I carried inside for many years... and they don't seem so big anymore."
I reply, “Yes, I’m right here with you… and it's beautiful. What's it like for the little girl to be dancing with you?”
“She loves it. She knows now that she lives inside my heart, where her dad lives, too. We're all dancing together.”
I lean in and say, “Wow... no words needed. I just want to witness this sacred dance play out."
And then… there's stillness. The music has stopped, and I hear the quiet hum of my sound machine outside my office door.
The kind woman continues, “I'm okay now. I'm not worried about the person I was scared about earlier. We've done a lot of good work together… and I can feel their light in my heart.”
I nod my head and say, “That was a beautiful dance with just the right ending. Before you leave, check with the little one to see if she's okay.”
“She lives inside my heart… just resting comfortably—maybe sleeping. I'm moving easily in the mountains now—doing the work I was meant to do, in the way and place I was always meant to be—my Core Self.”
I ask her if it's okay to write about this magical experience we just had together, to help others who do this work—who are stuck in the past with their clients—needing to find the light of invisibility within themselves and others.
The kind woman smiles as she gazes softly into my eyes. Then she speaks: "Absolutely, I would be honored… “
Taking a breath, she adds, “By the way, if you're available, I'd love for you and your wife to watch an upcoming dance performance. I helped with the choreography… and I’ll be dancing, too.”
I nod my head and say, “I need to check to see if my wife has anything planned, but you know that even if I'm not there…I'll be with you in heart."
She responds, “I know. That means a lot to me. It always has... and always will.”
As the lovely woman begins to glide toward the door in her graceful way, I add, “I think those reading what I write will be with you, too, as they continue this special dance... with their own choreography playing out the losses and joy in their lives.”
Pausing… and then continuing, I say, “It will be an honor and a blessing to be there—and I think your dad has always known that, too.”
With bright eyes, she looks back at me and says, “Thank you. I know now when daddy's coming home. He's always been here… and always will be.”
In synchrony, our hands rise up to our hearts—many hands… and more hearts.
Never alone… We're home now.
Gratitude: With appreciation for those who have shared their light and sweetness with me over the years—and received mine.
Confidentiality note: This piece was inspired by someone close to heart, who graciously consented for me to share the flavor of her courageous story. But, my words are a composite of many people I know—inside and outside of therapy. Any resemblance to your own life or our shared experience is both coincidental and universal—reminding us that our stories echo one another in the fabric of human experience.
Comments or questions? You’re welcome to reach me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold close… or long to be held.
About me: Besides being a writer, Marc Cecil is a doctoral-level licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. An experienced psychotherapist, supervisor, consultant, and teacher, Marc uses an integrated experiential model—grounded in our capacity for adaptive change—to help people heal from complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma.
Dr. Cecil lives in Vermont near the shores of Lake Bomoseen, where his heartfelt stories and images of connection arise from the light of invisibility—bringing life to therapy and therapy to life. Some call it elephant work. If you have your own name for it, I’m sure he’d love to hear it.