When I was very young, probably three years old, I have vague memories of my father loving me and riding a bicycle and taking me with him wherever he went.

I remember one time, my father took me to buy chickens, and now I remember where that place was, but the house is gone.

As soon as I got off the bike, I trotted all the way to the chicken's nest, wow, there were so many chicks, chirping, fluffy, very cute, I was small at that time, looking at them, I felt that they would peck me, I was very scared, I remember so much at that time!

But the good times didn't last long, in the middle of the night, with my father and mother took me to sleep, in my memory, my mother suddenly cried, I was at a loss, my mother hugged me, shouting my father's name, the aunt on the other side of the door also ran over, also called my father's name twice, but did not see my father answer, and then my aunt ran out to call the grandmother on the other side of the river, the house was suddenly in chaos, in fact, my father was no longer good at that time, but I didn't know anything at that time, thinking that he was just asleep.

In the next two days, there was a commotion at home, and my father's mourning hall was set up in the hall, which was not big in itself, and my family and my uncle's family had been separated at that time, and an earthen stove was built in the hall, so the hall was particularly cramped.

But I didn't know what was going on with my father, so I would run to him and say, "Father, get up, there are so many people in the house." "Grandma was beside her, crying even more sadly.

When my father died, I was bleeding, and I was scared, and my grandmother said to me, "Your father is dead, and he is ......dead."

On the day of my father's funeral, my father was lying in the back compartment of a tractor, and there were two rows of people sitting on the edge of the tractor, and I was lying on my uncle's lap, and at that time I already knew that my father was dead, and I already knew that death was a terrible thing, so I didn't dare to look at my father, and buried my head in my uncle, who held me and threw yellow paper all the way.

These are all my memories of my father, and when I grew up and became sensible, I also asked my mother, why I didn't leave a single photo, and my mother didn't seem to have any explanation, and she hated my father's departure very much, saying that she didn't raise me as an adult, and left by herself.

My father was a rice miller in the village, and his main job was to turn rice into rice and wheat into flour.

I learned from relatives and neighbors that he was an optimistic and cheerful person, happy all day long, and was still working in the field during the day on the day of his death, and the neighbor's uncle also told me that when he was working in the field, everyone joked together, I don't know if it was the reason for being tired, so he went that night, and in terms of my current medical knowledge, it is estimated that it was a cerebrovascular accident.

When I was three years old, I lost my father's love, and even if I had a stepfather, I didn't feel father's love, so when I saw that others had a mountain of father's love, I could only envy it!