My dad gave me a gift. He taught me how to be with him without being with him. He gave me a space to feel safe. I am thirty-two. Eight years ago my dad died. I miss him something awful. I struggle with feeling safe in the world daily. I am fraught with panic; I often have a broken heart. I miss my daddy. But sometimes, when the world is quiet, I can find him using the map he drew for me all those years ago. I open my windows; I listen to the sounds of the earth; I imagine myself beside the soft orange glow of the propane heater and strain my ears until I hear the soft pitter-patter of his presses. I breathe in the cold air and connect to the space he created for me. I am safe. I am good in this world.