My grandpa was born the year the Titanic sunk. In 1912.
I was born in 1976.
As a boy growing up we used to spend time together, often in silence. Unspoken communication. Just enjoying the simplicity of being together. Small-town Saskatchewan.
Sometimes I would help him roll his cigarettes and watch in delight the dance of smoke drift upward and dissipate as it expanded into the room.
Sometimes I have regretted not talking more with him, asking him questions. About his life and what he learned in life.
But I know that in the silence we shared, everything was communicated. All the answers to any question I could have asked and more.
My relationship with my father is much the same.