“She’s got blue eyes like the sea
And a smile just like me
(Or so her mother says)
But that’s not why I love her
No sir, it’s not quite true
I love that little girl ‘cause
She’s joy through and through.“

When I was a little girl, my dad sang the same song to me each night. It was a silly little ditty, written soon after I was born, and it had a bouncing rhythm that made me want to dance.

My dad loved me more than anyone on earth, and told me so many times. I was his pride. His darling. His joy.

Joy. The word sticks out, a note from my favorite line of the song. She’s joy through and through. Even now, long after the car crash, I whisper those words to myself late at night.

“I love that little girl ‘cause / she’s joy through and through.“

My daddy named me, years ago, after he wrote the song. Abigail.

Her father’s joy.