July 22, 2024 
By M. Regina Cram
Louisa’s devotion to her Daddy started well before her birth. This wasn’t ordinary devotion. It began as my husband, Peter, serenaded his unborn child throughout pregnancy. He’d ask about the weather and her thoughts on the Patriot’s quarterback. Then, in his rich baritone voice, he’d quietly say, “Daddy loves you every day, all the time.” And the baby would stir at the sound of his voice. Only his voice. No one else’s.
When Louisa was born, the delivery room was bustling with noise. In the midst of the cacophony, however, Louisa heard Peter speak. Immediately, she craned her little body toward him as though she could no longer wait to meet her beloved. Thus began one of the sweetest love stories I have ever been privileged to witness.
As an infant, Louisa was content in the crook of Peter’s arm for hours on end. He’d sing to her, or pray, or read Harry Potter, or watch Star Trek reruns. It didn’t matter what they were doing as long as she was with him. In return, she graced Peter with her first smile, her first laugh, her first baby kiss. Her Daddy was not just the light of her world. He was her world.
Unfortunately, Peter developed the bad habit of going to work. Each morning, as he drove away, Louisa would blink back tears.
And then she would wait.
One day, the waiting was longer than she could bear. She wiggled her way into the laundry basket, wrapped Peter’s tattered nightshirt around her little body, and quietly sobbed, “Dada! My Dada!” In desperation, I cut a small swatch of the nightshirt for her to carry around in her chubby fist. We call it her Piece of Daddy.
One evening, Louisa’s preschool teacher called me. “Um, this is kind of awkward,” she began, “but is everything okay at home?” I couldn’t imagine what she meant. The teacher explained that Louisa had been withdrawn and weepy at school recently. It was so unlike her.
Then it hit me. Peter was away on a trip, and Louisa was terribly sad. Such is the cost of love. When the same thing happened again, I began notifying Louisa’s teachers whenever Peter was away. I didn’t stop until Middle School.
A few days after Christmas one year, Louisa tripped and sliced her forehead on the raised hearth, crying out in pain and fear. I scooped her up and placed her in her Daddy’s lap, and almost immediately, she stopped crying. I stanched the bleeding and arranged for stitches as Louisa rested quietly. Her forehead still throbbed, but she knew she was safe in her Daddy’s arms.
And all the while, her blood-stained Daddy was weeping because his little one was in pain.
People often ask, “Where is God when it hurts?” This is where God is when it hurts. He’s not lollygagging in the distance or uncaring about our pain. Like that earthly Daddy, He is cradling us in His arms and weeping.
M. Regina Cram is a published author and parishioner of SS. Isidore and Maria Parish.
