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Life ends with the disappearance of the body, so missing someone becomes a way of mourning. From countless fragments, I picked up some pieces and pieced them together to form a person.

My father has always been in poor health, so I have lived with my grandmother since I was a child. When I was 7 years old, because of my mother’s work, I returned home - a completely unfamiliar home. My father had a bad temper and my mother tolerated him in everything, but she never saw him smile, as if he deserved to be the elder of the family.

He stipulated that meals must be served before six o'clock every evening. Once, my mother was late for dinner because she was cooking fish, and my father sat on the armchair without saying a word. His slightly plump body is like a rusty kettle that will boil once heated. I didn't dare get close, for fear that something might break out. That gate-like mouth seemed like once opened, angry words would flood out like a tide.

So, every day I follow the rules and dare not make any mistakes. One day, I missed my bus and got home at 6:30. I hesitated and didn't dare to go in, so I wandered around the door. My father dragged his sick body to open the door, looked out and found me at the door. I turned around and tried to run away, but before I could, I felt my shoulders loosen and my schoolbag was taken off. Was he going to hit me? I didn't dare to think further, but my father just patted my head and led me in. "Are you hungry?" Seeing me nod, he kept putting food into my bowl.

As my schoolwork became more demanding, I came home later and later, and that rule gradually became a dead letter, but my father would still sit on the armchair, rocking his kettle-like body back and forth, waiting for my mother and I to come back for dinner.

Day after day, year after year, finally one day the figure on the armchair disappeared...but my mother would still prepare dinner before six o'clock and then wait for me to come home.

Whenever night falls, I seem to hear his roar in my ears again, and imagine that my bad-tempered and stubborn father is smiling. I know that there is one sentence that he buried deep in his heart and never uttered from his gate-like mouth: "Child, I love you!"