my father's silences

I think what I remember most about my father is his silence. He was a quiet man, a man of few words. But when he spoke, you listened. I don't know how to describe it, but my father's silences were like a language, a way of communicating without words. He'd use gestures, expressions, tone of voice. It was all so subtle, but also so powerful. I remember walking with him, feeling his hand on my shoulder. It was a gesture of love, of affection. But he never said anything, never spoke the words. I think that's what I struggled with, the feeling that he didn't love me, that he didn't care. But as I grew older, I realized that his silences were not a lack of love, but a different way of showing it. He'd express his love through logistics, through practical things. He'd make sure I had food to eat, a roof over my head, clothes to wear. It was all so practical, but also so loving. I don't know how to describe it, but my father's silences were a mystery, a puzzle I'm still trying to solve. I think that's what I've learned, that love can be expressed in many different ways, that it's not just about words, but about actions, gestures, silences. I remember looking at him, trying to read his face. It was all so calm, so peaceful. But I knew that beneath the surface, there was a depth of emotion, a depth of love. I think what I've realized is that my father's silences were not a weakness, but a strength. They were a way of showing love, of showing affection, without words. And I'm grateful for that, grateful for the chance to understand him, to understand his love.