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.

I never remember anything that hurts me.

G.

Nothing is so good it lasts eternally
Perfect situations must go wrong…