In my 20 years, I look back and think of my father. I remember that he didn't care about exhaustion; he barely had enough time to fall on the mattress and be exhausted by a rest that didn't last long.

Already in the morning, he surprised us with his usual energy, humming the songs that he accommodated to his whim, which caused me the first-morning laugh. He returned to work every day, from Monday to Monday, with no time to stop, to talk...; no time for me.

From his daily life, I learned the importance of making an effort, of fighting life honestly. But he never realized that I needed to play with him, walk together, eat together... He didn't know about my sadness or my worries. He was not there when I failed or needed advice, nor when I was successful and longed for his congratulations, his pride.

It is true, sometimes he would arrive with sweets or a toy in his hands, without understanding that caresses are the greatest and best of gifts, the kind that moves the soul and give strength to continue.

Then, the separation came. The pain went deep and left traces. Life forced me to be the only man in the house, a child who had to make early decisions at his age. And although there was a hard time, I appreciate it because it left many teachings, despite the scars.

With his departure came not only nostalgia but also absence. The attention was lacking, the company in good and bad times, the timely scolding, the connection between us.

My father is no more. I think he left this world in need of love, the warmth of a hug, the immensity of a family. Maybe he had a lot of fears, I don't know. The truth is that I look to the past and I find the strength to love those around me, to make my mother happy; to think about the enormous father I long to become, one of those who never misses a moment from his children.

He is not anymore. And I want him to know that I'm not judging him.