A Part of Me is Gone

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On a Christmas morning, the typical teenager would expect nothing but a great time, not to mention, some presents. Though all of those great thoughts were about to vanish. Waking up to the sounds of my mother screaming and panicking, not knowing that she had received a phone call from Brazil early that morning. My mother, literately drowning into her own tears, gave me the news that would suddenly change my whole life. Now, what took minutes for her to say, took seconds to kill me inside. Sadly, she gave me the news that my father had been shot by his own fiancé and left bleeding to death on a deserted road. My heart dropped, I couldn’t breathe and I felt like I was watching a movie, which the ending was terrifying and sad. I was only thirteen at the time, and all I could think of was how could a human being be so cold hearted and wondering if killing my father made her life better.
From that moment on, I knew that Christmas would never be the same again. What was I to do? I couldn’t see my father for the last time because I was in a different continent then he was and I guess that’s what killed me the most. Growing up, I wasn’t always with my father. My mother, my sister and I moved from Brazil when I was only five years old, and ever since then I never went back to visit, and I barley called him because I was shy to cry on the phone but from that moment, I felt so much regret. I punished myself and thought that maybe if I had called him more and went to visit him, I wouldn’t be so hurt.
Everyday looking at his pictures made me miss him even more. I would do anything to see him again and I kept on asking God why did he take the most important man in my life. Nobody knew how I felt inside and how from that tragedy I wasn’t myself. I didn’t know how to take it in, so I never felt like doing anything anymore. I felt like middle school was a waste of time and that life didn’t have a meaning anymore. I didn’t want to hear anybody’s advice so I would lock myself in my room and from that moment, my new best friend was my pillow.
God gave us only one mother, and only one father so in my mind, a part of me was gone and there was nothing in this world that I could do to get It back. I still wish I could go back in time to when I was just a little girl watching movies with her daddy, but unfortunately, everything happens for a reason. We may not know the reason, but we have to learn to except that God is the one writing our story. I know my daddy is with me no matter where I go. From this big struggle, I’ve become more caring and responsible with my life. I took life more seriously, and everything that I did from that point on, was my best, because all I ever wanted was to make my father proud. I’ve learned to always say “I love you” to the people I care the most because you never know when your last breathe may be. I was able to overcome my daddy’s death, and knowing that he’s above smiling at me, gives me great proud and ambition to go out and follow my dreams because I know if he was still here, he would want nothing but the best for me. He will always be my guardian Angel, and always, my number one. Daddy’s Little Girl will forever be tattooed on me.





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