My Dad Passed Away on My Nineteenth Birthday
But I truly lost him at fifteen
I was lucky to have a good dad.
He was my favourite person for a long time.
When I was in boarding school, he made sure to visit every month. With a bag of a long list of things I would always request — junk food, stationery, books and whatnot. Once, my mom told me he’d go to get everything himself, making sure everything was just right.
He was interested, kind and always ready to help.
When I was about 13 years old, I made up my mind I wanted to be a professional badminton player. He played with me every morning to help me practise. It didn’t matter that I was terrible. He took the time out anyway.
We both shared a love for a good blueberry cheesecake. It was a little extreme, to be honest. Once every few months, we’d get a full cake home and slowly eat it all up by ourselves over a few days.
One summer vacation, I told him I wanted to lose some weight. Oh my, how I regretted that. He woke me up at 6 a.m. every morning to take me for a run.
I’m glad we did that now though. If only I knew our time together would be limited I’d sign up for some more of those runs.
