I Miss My Father

I Miss My Father

It was hard to believe the news I heard this morning that my friend Stella’s mother had taken her own life yesterday. I was badly surprised then, and now I’m still unable to accept the news, because I just talked with her several times some days ago. She was about forty-eight, a beautiful, kind woman. God, please tell me why a pretty good lady should leave the world early!

To be sure that Stella who is studying in France must be rather sad to hear the bad message. Stella and her mother and stepfather (I hope they could get along well with each other) had lived in a building next to mine before September, two thousand seven. In September Stella’s mother sold their house in order to make her study in France. When I was told that, I was moved by her behavīor, for I saw the mother’s greatness and intelligence. All mothers are great, but not everyone is quite intelligent. I believe that Stella’s mother had made many sacrifices and right decision for Stella’s future.

Stella’s mother has been asleep for ever, Stella is so sad, with tears.

Here I think of my dear father. He had left me on May twenty-sixth, two thousand four at the age of forty-eight. At that moment, I was studying in an university as a freshman.

I still remember that day. I was having physical education in the afternoon. One of my classmates came up to me and told me that someone was finding me on the air. When I settled down and heard the announcer repeating that “Wang Linhai, please come to the reception room in time, you uncle is waiting for you there.” When I ran to there, I saw a friend of father’s. He said, “Hai, it’s about your father, I’m so sorry, but you father…”

I ran away before he finished the talk. I knew that my father had been sick for long.

I came to a long-distance station by a bus with a badly anxious and uneasy heart, then, took a coach there to go home.

When I got to the gate of the hospital, the sky was getting dark, I happened to see my father was carried into a car driving up to the place where he was born, I knew he would end his whole life there.

The blood with some white foam had been trickling down from father’s mouth…

Tightly I’d held father’s still cold hands and ceaselessly wiped his blooded mouth, without tears, until the blood no longer trickled from his mouth. I broke into tears loudly, until now I suddenly became conscious that my father had left me, he had gone, forever.

Anytime, anywhere I often miss my father, especially when I see other people’s father, when I hear somebody call his own father, when I get anything about father, then I think I’ve had no father, he’s gone…

God, please tell him, I’ll always miss him, and I’m so proud to be his son, and I’ll be his good son…

I often miss my father, but he’s gone…