Three Months After the Move

Three months after my mother moved into an assisted-living apartment, I decided it was finally time to clear out her house. As it turned out, there was more of our family’s belongings than hers.
As I sorted things into piles—what to throw away and what to keep—I kept running into things that made me stop. “Oh… I remember this.” My worst elementary school report cards, for one. All kinds of things surfaced..
While going through it all, I came across a bundle of my children’s belongings and photographs. Inside it, I found a letter I had written..
It surprised me..
I had not been much of a father who stayed at home. I was clumsy in that role. In our family, their mother did most of the work of raising them. Even so, my children never said things like “Dad, I hate you,” or “You smell,” or “You’re annoying.” Even in their teenage years, there was no real rebellion. I still think that was entirely because of her. But I was a father who was often away on business. I always carried the sense that at any moment, something could happen and I might be gone, cut off from them without warning..
So, without telling them, I wrote each of them a letter and slipped it into their photo albums..
And now, I had found one of those letters..
> “Your father’s greatest happiness is listening to your stories, and telling you stories in return. > If something happens to me and I can no longer talk with you, please—keep talking to me. > I will always be standing beside you, listening. > I love you. Always, forever, no matter where I am.”.
Yes..
Even now, I love you..