When I was a little girl, every time my dad was repairing something, he    ask me to hold the hammer, and meanwhile, have a conversation with me. I never saw my dad drinking or taking a night out. All he did after work was taking care of his family.
I grew up and left home for college and       then, my dad had been calling me every Sunday morning, no matter what. Several years later I bought a house,         my dad painted by himself for three days in the 80-degree summer heat. All he asked was         me to talk to him. But I was always busy,       (able) to find any time for conversation with him.
One Sunday morning we had a telephone talk as usual. I noticed that my dad had forgotten some things we discussed lately. I was in a hurry, so our conversation was short. Later that day came a call      (say) my father was in hospital. Immediately I bought a ticket for a flight and on my way I was thinking about all the       (miss) occasions to have a talk with my dad.
     the time I got to hospital, my father had passed away. Now it was         who did not have time for a conversation with me. I realized      little I know about my dad, his deepest thoughts and dreams. After his death I learned more about him, and even more about myself.