He did not always say much.
Sometimes his love sounded like asking whether you got home safely. Like getting up early while the house was still dark. Like carrying the heavier bag without being asked. Like reminding you about something for the third time because worry sometimes disguises itself as repetition.
Perhaps, when you were younger, you only saw the ordinary version of him.
Tired. Serious. Sitting in the same chair at the end of a long day. Repeating familiar advice. Checking practical things that never felt particularly emotional.
Then you grow older and begin to notice what those ordinary things were costing him.
The tired hands. The early mornings. The bills he carried in his head. The plans he changed. The things he quietly went without so somebody else could have more.
Not every father knows how to translate love into soft sentences.
Some were taught to provide before they were taught to speak about feelings.
That does not excuse every hurt, and fathers are human beings who can make mistakes too.
But sometimes, with age, you begin to see forms of care you did not know how to recognise when you were younger.
If your father is still here, ask him a question you have never asked. Sit beside him without needing a reason. Tell him something you appreciate while he can still hear it.
And if he has returned to Allah, let the love you understand now become sincere dua.
May Allah preserve your father in goodness, forgive his shortcomings, reward every burden he carried quietly, place barakah in the years you still have together, and if he has returned to Him, fill his grave with light and mercy and grant him Jannah. Ameen.
