"The years teach much which the days never knew."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882), American author
This afternoon I was rummaging through some old files looking for an important paper, and found a letter that I had written to my dad on Father's Day almost 20 years ago. I sat and read it, and as I did, I decided I wanted to share it with you.
I wrote about Pop in an earlier post, and made an attempt to describe how difficult it was for us to express our feelings for each other. After he recovered from his heart attack we did a little better, but not much. In order to avoid the face-to-face discomfort we both felt when I told him I loved him, I would sometimes just write him a letter. He rarely acknowledged any of them, but when he did, it was with a simple, "Thanks for that letter, son."
At his funeral, less than four months after I wrote the Father's Day note, some of his brothers and I were talking about the things we remembered most about him. One of them almost casually said, "He sure was proud of that letter you wrote him."
When I asked what he was talking about, he continued, "The letter you wrote him on Father's Day when you couldn't be with him. He carried it in the pocket of his coveralls, and showed it to everyone who would read it. It really meant a lot to him."
I thanked my uncle for what he had told me, excused myself, and pondered what I'd been told. Something mysterious was at work at that moment, helping me to better understand who my father really was, and how he felt about me. What drew me to my uncle at that particular moment? What prompted him to mention the letter?
I cannot answer those questions, but I do know this. Everything we do for others matters. It matters to us, and it matters to them. It may not be apparent at the time, but it has an impact, sometimes far beyond what we could ever imagine.
(The letter appears in the following post.)
1 comment:
I agree. I wrote my mother a poem on mothers day a few years ago my family also was not big on showing affection. She showed it to her neighbor who was an 83 yr old man who had been a teacher and a poet and published a few poetry books. She said when he read it it brought a tear to his eye. He wrote a local column and wrote a poem for my mother once and mentioned he agreed with me about the way my mother is and that brought a tear to my eye. Thankyou for reminding me of that.
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