My father wasn’t the dad of the year most of the time, but he did what he could in the small we lived in having three daughters raise.

Being the middle child, I didn’t get much attention as a child. But at 8 years old, I was okay with the fact that the other two needed to be in the limelight. My mother tells me about that when I was a baby I was angel her words, not mine.

One day, my father decided to take me to the only park in town. The thing is, most of the time, my siblings would come with us, but that day we were alone at the park, a rare moment.

Anyways, he was pushing me on the swing and we were laughing and talking and it was the picture of a father-daughter moment. Near the end of the trip, he was being truthful with me. He told me, “One day, you and me are going to leave this place and it’ll just be us.”

I was excited because I knew that would mean no sisters and fun. Of course, I would have missed my mother, but I was 8 years old, and didn’t care at that moment.

Some time goes by and it's Leap Year day. It's late, and me and my younger sister are awoken. Long story short, my father goes missing. I am sent to school, and the whole bus ride there my mind was reeling.

‘Will dad show up again?’
‘Will dad and mom get a divorce?’

‘Maybe we will get to leave like we said’
The day goes on and I am called into my school office.
My close family is sitting in the counselor's office, and my older sister was pulled from her 5th grade class as well.

My mother is in tears as she tells us our father was found dead in our garage and how he slipped and broke his neck, that he was killed instantly.
Everyone but I cried.
I wore pink at his funeral.

The first time I told my sisters the story of that day in the park they got mad at me, and I never spoke of it again.

It's funny, hearing them talk about their favorite memories of our father, and yet I can’t speak about it.
Because it tells them how much I was loved by him, even though his love for us was equal in size