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Today, for every father, of blood and heart, who held their children as they grew.

I was raised by a man who was not my blood father, but whose spirit claimed me as his own from the age of 3 until he adopted me in Orphan’s Court when I was 34 years old, so that I would always know that I was the daughter that he chose.

The night before my adoption, I discovered that the name McQuaid means Son of the Poet. My father and I laughed about this discovery, as neither one of us actually knew the meaning of the name, until we were both nearly in tears for the grace that brought us into each other’s lives.  It has been one of the greatest honors of my life to be his daughter, to bear his name, to know he lives on inside of me wherever this life leads me. I offer endless gratitude to my Dad, James C. McQuaid, for how his love held me and my brothers as we grew.

Only grace to hold all of the fathers today, of both blood and heart, who hold their children, gently, in their love.

All peace to each one of you today. Dora

James C. McQuaid
May 17, 1938 – January 1, 2007

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