Dad died when I was young. I hardly remember his face. Mum has kept his photos hidden because she cries anytime she sees him. It's been 20 years but to her, it seems like just yesterday. She never recovered after his death.
She's always believed dad's death wasn't rational. It was an accident but she believes it's a spiritual attack. She's a very superstitious person. On the day of his death, dad had returned from work like he does everyday and everything was fine. He decided to take the garbage out and a car missed the road, missed the curb and hit him, killing him on the spot.
Dad never believed in coincidences and his death was one hell of a coincidence. Everyone says it's an accident but mum has never believed that, probably why she's not moved on. I on the other part seem to have moved on and forgotten how he looks like.
My most fond memory of him is the day he got me my first and only bicycle. It was a blue bike with side wheels to help my balance. It was also one of the last things he bought for me before his death. I rode it for several years even after his death.
My blue bicycle made me a star in my neighborhood. Growing up, not many parents could afford buying bicycles for their children. I remember how kids will come my house after school just to ask for a ride. I became a friend to a lot of kids. I miss those days. How I wish I had a blue bicycle now, so I can ride whenever I feel sad or down.