Yesterday, Sunday was Father's Day in Venezuela and although I had a great time because, after many years, my only brother is with us again, I must admit that yesterday was a day when I missed the most important man in my life: my dad.

My dad died in 2016, after living for more than 12 years with kidney disease. For 12 years he received dialysis three times a week - Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. In those years of illness, my dad maintained an optimistic, courageous and resigned attitude.

Dad was always a cheerful, loving, partying man, and although due to illness he had to give up many things he loved, he tried to keep his jovial and affectionate personality until the end. Maybe that's why he was so loved by everyone, so admired and respected by others.

With a strict diet, with limited fluid intake, with 4-hour dialysis, my dad had overcome the life prognosis he had been given. Through that daily, constant battle, Dad had become our hero.

But in 2016, like a boxer who has taken all the punches gallantly, my dad confessed to us that he was tired of fighting. Selfishly, we implored him not to give up, to keep fighting, but Dad had fallen to the canvas and although we wanted him to get up, it was impossible.

When Dad was alive, on Father's Day, the house was filled with friends and relatives who came especially to congratulate him. After his death, at home we got used to go to the cemetery and be with him, as in the past, especially for him not to feel alone on his day and for us, his daughters, to continue celebrating him, because, although he is not physically with us, in each of our daily struggles he is there, reminding us that all adversity makes us strong and we can never, never stop smiling.