My father never once ended a call with me without saying, “I love you.”
My response was always the same, “I love you, too.”
The conversation had become so habitual that I would often just respond without ever really thinking about it.
It was as if I had taken for granted the fact that words are supported by actual feelings.
My dad’s health has been declining, and last week I was forced to clean out his place.
My goal was merely to get it done without breaking down in tears.
I was fine – up until the moment I found a letter that I had written to him when I was a small child.
Knowing that he kept this short handwritten note for over 40 years touched me more than any of the “I love you’s” ever could.
Sometimes, it’s what people save, not say, that means the most.
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