My dad was my mom, too.
I was four and my mother became ill. No one mentioned what was wrong with her. For two years, I thought mommy was getting better.
A sunny, warm Saturday in June, the world crashed, when I came in from playing outdoors, only to be told my mother had died. I learned a few years later, she had breast cancer. In the late 04's no one sd the C word.
My dad could always cook, he did the laundry, worked every day. cleaned, ironed and took care of his father and me. My mom knew she wasn't going to live, so she showed him to braid my hair, too.
Dad and I lived alone for many years, when I married we moved to be near him. He was always a loving father and grandfather. He died when I was 32, and I miss him everyday, and wish he could have lived to see his grandchildren grow up.
God bless you daddy, I miss you