I See You Now, Dad

 Ten years.

It’s been a decade since you left, Dad — but in truth, I’ve been trying to understand you for much longer.

Your later years were defined by illness — a failing heart, Parkinson’s, and a body that slowly stopped cooperating with the spirit inside. But that’s not the whole story. It took me years to realise that.

Growing up, the narrative around you was… complicated. You were often seen as weak, even irresponsible. And as children, we accepted what we were told. We didn’t question it. We didn’t know how to.

But time has a way of revealing quieter truths.

As I grew older, I began to hear stories — from your brothers, your cousins — about the man you once were. Charismatic. Warm. The heart of every gathering. Someone people gravitated towards, someone who lit up rooms without trying.

And I found myself wondering… what changed?

Life, perhaps. Circumstances. The quiet weight of responsibilities and relationships that, over time, may have taken more than they gave. Somewhere along the way, parts of you seemed to fade from view — at least to us.

I carry a quiet regret that I never truly knew that version of you while you were here. That I didn’t see past the surface sooner. That I didn’t understand.

But I see you now, in fragments — in stories, in reflections, in the spaces between what was said and what was never spoken.

Ten years on, I remember not just the father I knew, but the man I’m still discovering.

I wish I had known you better then. I wish I had told you that I see you.

I see you now, Dad.

And I hope, wherever you are, you know that.