They say that mother love is nothing, but this amazing story proves that parental love is just as special. What does a young woman say about her relationship with her father, who loved her very much?
“I don’t remember my mother. She died when I was a few months old. My father was 50 when I was born. Some may say that at this age it is too late to be a father. My father was my father and my mother. I was lucky.”
When I was in general, my father did many things with and for me. He took me to school every day and always made me something sweet when I got home from school.
Growing up, I tried to separate myself from that childhood. When I went to high school and had lunch classes, my father got up early in the morning and brought me a sandwich for lunch. He always put a note with it and wished him a nice day, he told me it will be okay, he told me a joke or he judged hearts in which he wrote that daddy loves you. Each time he comforted me and reminded me that he loves me.
I started hiding my father’s notes when I was with my friends. I was ashamed of her. One of my colleagues took my note during the break and passed it on to my other colleagues. He blushed like a radish. Fortunately, everyone wanted to see what my father had written in my diary the next day.
I realized that everyone wants to feel loved like me.
I got all grades in high school. I have kept them all.
She later transferred to a university in another city. I always miss my father. I called him every day after school. We even performed some rituals before closing our doors. The whole house recognized me as the girl who gets letters on Fridays. I had friends who knew the notes and wanted to read them every Friday.
Dad got sick one day. Cancer.
He started writing to me late. My friends called him the best father in the world and one day they wrote him a letter wishing him good health and thanking him for learning what fatherly love means.
Towards the end of the university year, I went home to take care of my father. Because of the treatment, he sometimes didn’t even recognize me.
In the hospital, before he died, I held his hand and he said:
– Angelica?
– Yes, Dad.
– Dad loves you.