I’ll get right to the purpose — “Daughters,” a documentary currently streaming on Netflix, floored me. I cried, was almost inconsolable for a while, and truthfully, I wasn’t sure I could finish watching the movie. I did, but I didn’t feel any higher when it was over. I used to be grateful that I could hold, touch, talk to, and be with my daughter almost on a regular basis.

“Daughters,” directed by Angela Patton and Natalie Rae, follows a group of incarcerated fathers and their relationships with their daughters as they prepare for a “Date with Dad” dance at a Washington, D.C., prison where fathers are held. The fathers undergo a 10-week fatherhood course on what it means to be a present father, which is each a logistical and psychological nightmare within the lead-up to the dance. At the identical time, the daughters are also preparing for the day. The film follows 4 girls specifically, who’re all different ages and have different relationships with their fathers. The relationship part is where I knew the documentary was going to turn into an emotional disaster for me.

For example, the youngest girl, Aubrey, is 5 after we meet her, and clearly loves her father, Keith. She is aware of how long he’ll be gone, is optimistic about his return, and has vivid memories of their relationship. She is a comfortable, smart girl. All I could take into consideration and wonder was whether this relationship was sustainable; young children naturally give attention to the positives, but older children grow to be content with reality, and the every day absence begins to wear on them. Unfortunately, we see this play out through the years as we follow the youngsters through the film. Where we start with Aubrey and Keith, it doesn’t end, and it broke my heart for his or her relationship because when Keith is released from prison, Aubrey will be about 15. You can’t take back those early life.

There’s Ja’Ana, who doesn’t even remember what her father, Frank, looks like and barely keeps in contact with him. There’s Santana, who’s mad at her father, Mark, for continually being in and out of prison, and then there’s 15-year-old Raziah, whose father, Alonzo, is serving a 30-year sentence and she’s pretty clear concerning the negative effects his imprisonment has on her.

Watching the women’ stories (and their moms’ too) and seeing how hard their father’s incarceration was on them was hard. I actually have a 15-year-old daughter who I can’t imagine being separated from. As a parent and a father, certain content about parenting all the time stirs up emotions I’m not even aware of. I cry at things now, from movies to commercials to deliberately manipulative videos and social media posts. Parenting changes you; my children are sometimes a source of motivation and, truthfully, they offer me strength when times are tough. I can’t imagine not seeing them or touching them. The empathy I felt for my daughters and their fathers tugged at me throughout the documentary.

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What shattered my ENTIRE soul was this realization: I do know these fathers had two and a half months of impatiently waiting to see their children for a few hours. I also knew the dance would end, and the separation endlessly (for a few of them) was coming, and watching it on screen was going to hurt. I used to be not prepared for how hard it was to watch these little girls leave their fathers. Everyone within the gym where the dance was happening knew that point was limited, but knowing and experiencing it, and then translating it onto the screen, hit me in a place that just about made it harder to watch. I hated seeing them separated; the hugs that had to end, not knowing when the following one would come. The guarantees that would not be kept from behind bars. The optimism you possibly can hear in a number of the fathers’ voices as they tried to stay positive despite the circumstances was palpable.

And then he realized that there have been fathers on the prom whose daughters didn’t show up or didn’t show up. After the prom, Keith (Aubrey’s dad) mentioned going to his cell and crying, trying to recall the memory. Earlier within the documentary, the counselor mentioned how common this was and that fathers could try to recall the memory so long as possible as a response to the trauma of the breakup.

The realization that many prisons not allow in-person visits, often resorting to expensive video calls or plexiglass partitions that prevent families from touching, was a gut punch I didn’t expect. For lots of these fathers and daughters, this was the one hug they got until their father was released. Again, emotionally, the reality of their circumstances had a fully devastating effect on me, so I can only imagine the pain these men and girls felt.

There are some hints of comfortable endings within the documentary, however the criminal justice system doesn’t provide peace for all of the families involved. It made me want to cherish every moment I had with my children, especially my daughter. I’m unsure if I’ll ever be able to watch this documentary again, but knowing this is enough. I pray for the families caught up within the criminal justice system and its ability to destroy families. And I pray for all of the daughters who’re coping with similar circumstances. I can only suggest to those that should not, keep your head up and pray for peace, patience and understanding. I hope these families are able to rebuild; these daughters need it.