When I first faced the death of my dearest, I was only six years old, an age too young to understand what really happened and the meaning of death. As a little girl, I was imagining all the adults were acting and pretending my dad was dead. They were doing this just because they wanted me to be a good girl. So many years passed, I can't even remember when I realized my dad was really gone, but I know he's watching me somewhere, he's hoping me to be good, and I can still feel he's loving me and protecting me, like the days he was alive.
Just like to say, great respect gives to those who are in deep grief but still stand strongly when suffering from this