Dad missing his little girl at Easter

A poem by a Dad who has court ordered time with his daughter at Easter denied by her mother

I wrote this for my daughter when I had an FVRO taken out against me. It was one of the hardest periods of my life, sudden separation, uncertainty, and feeling like everything I’d built as a father was being questioned overnight.

Since then, I’ve come a long way. The FVRO was dismissed, I filed in family court, and I now have regular time with my daughter which is increasing toward 50/50.

But these Easter holidays aren’t going to plan. Despite court orders being in place, handovers haven’t occurred, and it looks like I won’t see my daughter during this time.

I’m sharing this for anyone going through something similar, stay steady. Focus on your child, keep your conduct clean, and don’t do anything that risks your credibility, even when it feels unfair.

It’s a long road, but I still believe things can work out in the end.

I wrote this during that first period:

To my daughter -

I was there.

Through scraped knees and bedtime tears.

Through morning toast, school drop-offs,

swings in the garden, “one more push, Dadda”

I was there.

Not just in name.

But in the floor swept clean, in dinner made even when I wasn’t hungry,

in the doona I pulled up after she’d kicked it off for the tenth time.

In the laugh when I crawled like a gorilla,

in the arms that caught her

when her world felt too big.

And now?

Now I’m the ghost.

Rewritten by ink on paper, reduced to shadows

by the same hands I once held through fire.

They say I shouted.

They say I hurt.

But they don’t say I stood still

while storms screamed past me because I didn’t want to fight,

I just wanted peace.

For her. For all of them.

They don’t mention the mornings I stayed back, biting my tongue so their world didn’t break.

They don’t mention the way I left when my body started to shake

because even the strongest man can’t hold a house together if the roof keeps caving in.

This isn’t vengeance.

This is clarity.

This is a father saying don’t erase me.

I’ve never turned away from the hard things.

I’ve worked. I’ve built.

I’ve been present even when pushed out.

So, if I sound angry, understand it’s not hate.

It’s hurt.

It’s love, trapped outside the door.

But don’t pretend I wasn’t there.

Because I was.

And I still am.

Author - K.