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“Expressions of the heart are like a fine wine.  The taste is always better when it's shared”


My father was a private man.  Not given easily to praise.  Even so, I always wanted his approval.  Yearned for it.   But at best I always felt my efforts were only adequate.  Never great.

While still in high school, my dad took ill and, after many surgeries, was sent home without a favorable prognosis.  We all knew the day was approaching that we would lose him, although nothing was ever  said. 

Upon graduation, I joined the military and my exposure to my folks was mostly through postcards and letters, however, I was stationed close enough to home that I could get there for an occasional weekend.  I remember how we'd talk about nothing and everything.

One day the news came that my dad was gone.  I loved him deeply, but I couldn't cry.  I held tightly to the years we had together.  The way he looked.  The things that we had done.  But for some reason, the tears didn't come.

One day my brother brought me several diaries.  He said he thought I might like to see them.  They had been kept by my dad, one for every year since I'd been gone. In them he recorded all my visits.  Noting how each day he'd check the mailbox with notations like “no letter from Bob today”.  

As I read through the pages, I discovered a man I never knew.  He opened up with words the things he never said.  He wrote about the pride he had for what I had become.  He lived through me without my knowledge.  And at last, the tears ran down my cheeks.

I wish now that I had not been blind to the unspoken bond between us.  Until too late, I never knew just how much he cared..  If only just once he had told me that he loved me.  Perhaps if I had said “I love you dad”.

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