“I really don’t know when my father and I grew apart. I think it is after I started following a certain lifestyle. You know I love tattoos and piercings and my father never approved of it. I think every time I went in front of him he would see my tattoos and piercing and not his daughter. He never really introduced me to any of his relatives. I think he was ashamed to have me as a daughter. When he was sick I wanted to go see him in the hospital but I always felt that he didn’t want to see me so I never went. He had cancer. But you know I loved him. I could never gather enough courage to go up to him and tell him. I wanted to tell him what I did was out of passion and not to hurt him. One day while I was at a friends I got a call from my mother. It was father’s day. She was crying and said that my father’s health had worsened and that he wished to see me. It was the first time that my father had called for me. So I got a “Happy Father’s Day” cake and rushed home, crying. My father had called for me, you know. It was a really big thing. I reached home to see my father in bed. He could hardly speak, but he said, “Daughter, I love you and I want you to look after your mother. I am dying.” We both cried for hours and later that night he passed away. I didn’t know he loved me so much. I never did. And I never got to tell him that I love him and I am sorry.”