My Mum died aged 92. Of course I miss her. I adored my father. We were very close. He'd suffered from terrible experiences in WW2. He had a mild heart attack when I was 18. I went to visit him in hospital the next day. He was sitting up his bed, in a small Men's ward, with 3 other men in there. When I arrived, Dad was looking well and was cheerful. He looked really pleased to see me, and said in a loud voice (so his room mates could hear him) "Here's my lovely daughter! I'm very proud of her."
Being a typical teenager, I was squirming when he said that, and because the other men were staring at me, I said "Shut up Dad! You're embarrassing me." I briefly kissed him and didn't stay long, believing he would be home very soon. (I had to rush back to work.) Everyone thought he was recovering well from the mild heart attack, but he had another more severe heart attack, and died the next day.
I didn't have the chance to tell him how much I loved him, and I had no chance to say goodbye. It took me many, many years to get over his death (if I ever have), and I find the tears beginning to flow as I type this. He didn't live to give me away at my wedding 5 years later, or see his grandchildren. I suppose I must be grateful for the 18 happy years that I did have with him.