My dad was probably my best friend when I was growing up. I was Daddy's Little Girl. He would take me to the pool when ever I asked, even in winter then we would find an indoor one. He would help me build princess castles out of big boxes. He was an artist. No, literaly he was an artist, he painted.

But when I was nine, a disaster struck. My dad had cancer. It was something in his eye, but then it spread into a tumor somewhere. My parents promised my brother and I that he was going to be ok.

When I was twelve, on December 27th, he past away. The last picture he painted was a heart.








I miss him.