holding hands

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.

The love.

My relationship with my father is much the same.







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