Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • It has been 15 years since his passing but there is not a day that I do not remember him and the things we have shared, our afternoon conversations and our early dawn study together. In 2 days he would have been a year older and I have no clue what year he was born. He always seemed too old to have had me. In my high school years he looked and moved like a grandfather to me although I have never met any of my grandparents. My father retired from teaching before I even went to the city to chase for my dreams in college. Yet, he has always considered me an adult even as a child and for that he has earned my friendship.

    One of the things that we used to do was write to each other, expressing our thoughts and feelings. I have grown so much like him. He always referred to himself an old sentimental fool. Now in my 30s I think that I have become just like him, not quite old yet, but a sentimental fool.

    Looking back, I don't think that I have really said my goodbyes nor have I said "I love you" to him. We were never that kind of sentimental fools it seemed, but he knew and I knew. The things we do not really say are felt in the heart. We had that bond and boundary that we respected and that made our father-daughter relationship even closer.

    I cannot help but say in all sincerity that I ache for a conversation with him these days. There is so much that I want to tell him. I guess I can only do that now by whispering to the wind and hopefully it gets to him somehow. I remember him teaching me how to whistle to call on the wind when the summer heat would seem unbearable back in our old house. To my surprise, the wind always seemed to blow hard whenever he whistled. My father was a learned man teaching at the local college and I always thought of him as a very intelligent man who loved to talk about politics and yet he had a whimsical side who read poetry to show his vulnerability.

    I recently went home and found a few of his letters I have managed to save before our house turned to ashes the year before he passed. I remember framing them a year after he passed and it has collected dust over the years. Thanks to technology I have managed to save it electronically now and I'd keep them in remembrance of him.

    The sentimental fool in me would tell me that I do not really need my father's old love letters to me to remember him because in my heart he is never really gone and will forever remain indelible there, but for the very same reason I don't that I do.

    When someone so close and so dear physically departs, you will never get over the pain but you will get used to it consoled by the memory of the one you lost and the thought that he or she wouldn't want you to go through life looking back and feel sorry.
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.