The Day That Daddy Died

Dear Friends,

Yesterday morning at about 6 am my Daddy, Taliron Quinn, unexpectedly passed away from a massive heart attack. There are no words to describe the agony, devastation, and sorrow that I feel. But, as you all know, we were a couple who loved to write, so I will do my best to try and put something down on this virtual paper. I want him to be remembered.

My Daddy and I were married for almost 9 years, and together for 10 years. We are also parents to a beautiful teenage daughter. Tali was so kind, selfless, protective, understanding, hilariously funny, and smart. He loved to rock out to music on Spotify, play video games to unwind, read sci-fi novels before bed, and indulge on delicious home-cooked food. As a family of three we called ourselves “The Three Musketeers” because that’s how we were. Close. Loving. Deeply family-centered.

My Daddy was born in Manila, Philippines but came to the United States 17 years ago. One of his greatest wishes was to get his citizenship. Three weeks before his death, on August 23rd, 2022 he finally got his U.S. Citizenship. It was a day that we celebrated and danced with complete joy.

As a Daddy my Daddy loved to spoil me. He called me Kitten Kaboodle, Baby Bean, or His Sweet Selkie. Usually it was just Kitten and Daddy…. together forever. <3 He was my best friend, soulmate, my better half, my confidante, and the love of my life. He loved putting me in little space. As a Dd/lg couple and parents we often couldn’t wear onesies or use items to enhance our little space time because we were juggling being parents and were often tired at the end of the day. So, to keep our Dd/lg dynamic alive, we relied almost exclusively on words. Beautiful, glorious words that Daddy would say to put me into little space.

“How old are you, Kitten?”

“Come snuggle on Daddy’s chest”

“You don’t look a day over 5 to me!”

“You’re so tiny you’re microscopic!” (That was one of my favorites that always made me bust out laughing).

When we were in our adult headspace as husband and wife I would always tell Daddy, “You are the very breath in my lungs. I can’t imagine life without you”. And I couldn’t. Truthfully, I still can’t. As I sit here typing out my feelings my hands are trembling. I was with Daddy the moment that the heart attack happened. I was there when I called 911 and immediately began doing CPR (chest compressions and mouth to mouth resuscitation). He is the breath in my lungs and I gave it all I had.

But it wasn’t enough. I know Daddy wouldn’t want me blaming myself and I promised our daughter I wouldn’t blame myself wondering what more I could have done.

So, my Daddy passed away. And yet, I still feel him with me. As I wear his wedding ring on a necklace around my neck and his matching bracelet to mine on my other wrist, I feel him close. I feel his presence with our daughter and I each moment as we go through this horrific tragedy. I feel him holding me close, just as Daddy always did, whispering, “I’m sorry” in the deepest parts of my spirit. He would never, ever want me to struggle, suffer, or cause pain on us in any way. So, as I laid there hearing him in my soul late last night I whispered to the ceiling:

“Don’t be sorry. I love you. I will always love you. This isn’t goodbye. It’s I’ll see you again someday”.

What Comes Next For This Space:

Well…. I have no idea. But I do know that writing has allowed me to grieve, and continue to grieve. I know that our community of Littles, Caregivers, Daddies, Mommies, etc. is unique and special. The greater society doesn’t really understand us and I don’t expect them to. I need a space to write, express myself as a widow and a Little, and share my thoughts to the world.

So, I’m just going to keep blogging.

Being a Little is who I am. My family will never understand that and I don’t ever intend to bring it up with them as my daughter and I move home with family to regroup and figure out “what’s next?” in our life. But I will have this community, here, and all of you. I will have you all to lean on and know that there are people out there who care, and connect with me. That you all understand that Tali was so much more than just my husband, best friend, lover, confidante, etc.

He was my Daddy. He is still my Daddy. He will always be my Daddy. And the title of “Daddy” holds so much weight.

Thank you all for reading. God bless.

~Penny x

8 responses to “The Day That Daddy Died”

  1. Oh Penny I am so, so sorry for your loss. Words cannot describe the shock that I feel right now and, perhaps, the guilt given that yesterday was my 34th birthday. I wish that things were so very different and I wish that I could do something, anything to take away your pain. Know that I am here for you, always. You are not alone xx

  2. Oh, my dear friend. I grieve so much for you. Words cannot even begin to express my condolences. You and your family with be in my thoughts and prayers. If you need anything at all, even if it’s a shoulder to cry on, I’ll be there.

  3. Oh no! I am so incredibly sorry for your loss, my friend. I wish I had the words to help ease the pain and make things better. I’m keeping you and yours in my thoughts. All the love to you and yours during this time and the times to come. <3

  4. There are no words I can say to help ease your pain but know that Bear and I have you and your family in our thoughts and in our prayers. Please reach out if you ever feel the need …. <3

  5. I cried with you as I read this, Penny Berry. My heart breaks for you and your daughter. I am so very sorry. I have always admired you and your Daddy as a beautiful D/s couple, and love reading posts from either of you. The world lost a great man. I am sending you all of my love and healing thoughts. May he wrap you in his love all the way from heaven. Love, nora

  6. Words can not describe my sorrow for your sudden loss. My stomach dropped and had to reread the whole post for the news to sink in. I relate a lot to your life and your relationship with your Daddy…keep on blogging. We will do whatever we can to help. Hugs.

  7. Penny, I know I have not always been the kindest. I wasn’t well, but this moment isn’t about me. I’m deeply sorry for your loss and wish only good things for you and your daughter.

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