I thought so.
I lost him when I was 10.
I thought I knew him so well that I basked being a ‘Daddy’s girl’….
I am weird. My kind is rare.
I have been battling with Juvenile Idiopathic Arthritis (JIA/JRA) since birth. I was born with deformed joints, I am unable to do a fist and my knees are bigger than normal. At 5, I had an unusual skin condition that resembled like psoriasis or what they called erythrodermic psoriasis.
Because of my skin disorder, I was unable to bathe myself without scratching my body and causing more injury to my already weeping skin. So, my father would always give me a bath. He took good care of me. He was the only one who had the courage to lay hands to my gross situation.
I skipped kindergarten.
I was already 7 when my skin disorder finally gave up on me and resolved itself. For two years, my father was my number one fan despite how monstrous-looking I was.
Those who knew me and saw me growing up cannot even believe that I turned out to be fair-skinned, no single mark or trace would suggest that I went through a rarest skin condition… all because I had my father as my caregiver.
Every academic recognition days of my first, second and third grades, my father was at my side to present my Honor Roll Ribbon.
I am smart. And I am always my father’s daughter.
But, he had to die soon.
It was midterm in my fourth grade; we were preparing to fetch him from the hospital as he was to be discharged that Wednesday. Just as I opened the house gate, I saw my father’s body being lowered down from a hearse.
And my body went numb.
Too soon. I’ve never known my father. I did not have the chance to know him well.
I don’t remember him anymore.
Nothing is so good it lasts eternally
Perfect situations must go wrong…