My Dad

I want to remember you holding me close,
so close that I could smell your warm skin.
I want to remember you holding me tight,
so tight that nothing could hurt me.
You are my Dad. My Daddy, my Father.
Just you. No one else.
I see you now with my son.
No matter how hard I try,
I cannot find in my memory
the picture that sees you squeezing me as you now squeeze him.
There is, though, a warm feeling inside me that tells me I know you did.
It is a perfect feeling, beautiful in form and pattern.
Can you remember?
We should talk about it.
We have never been good with emotions have we?
Somehow the anger of my youth gave way to indifference of young adulthood. The beauty of innocence of language between us was lost along the way.
I cannot think when we last said we loved each other.
I love you Dad.
I love the fact that you stroked Mum’s tummy when you knew I was inside,
that you held me when I was born,
and that you comforted me when I needed you.
I see in your eyes the same look that I see in my own eyes
when I look at my son today,
and that is how I know how much you love me.
I guess I just want to say thank you.
Thank you for loving me.
Thank you for always loving me and for always being my Dad.