Every blade of grass I see reminds me how bad I was as a father of a lonely angel.
The incident that broke my wife's heart happened fourteen months ago. It was a normal Sunday morning on the public park. Church goers were marching down to the chapel, children were playing hide and seek, and my family was sitting down on the warm light green grass. Everything was normal; everything was perfect except from me.
It was supposed to be a family day, but my mind was on how would I pay a thousand money debt for buying the required medicine for our only child, Sarah. She was a bookworm, so I expected her to have an illness. She did not like to exercise or play with the other kids. I didn't know what entered my head that day, but I found my hands tearing her new children book. I wanted her to change, to run together with other kids, to break my rules, to walk on a dangerous street and to be free. I wanted her to be like me.
For a hundred times, 'I hate you' from my wife, didn't hurt me. But when it came out from Sarah, my chest gone wild inside. She was staring at me, her eyes were red. Then I saw her collapsed. We brought her to the nearest clinic, but heart stopped beating. She was six. She will forever be six. I went to a book store and bought two copies of the book I tore. I put the first copy with her grave. Until now the second book is with me, every night, I read it to myself. The title of the book is 'The Greatest Dad in the World'.