Dad looked down at his hands.
He was sitting in the very studio where I stood now. His face was thin, and the cancer had taken most of his hair.
"Hey, son."
My breath caught.
Dad looked down at his hands before continuing.
"I've never been good at this stuff. Talking about feelings. You know that better than anybody."
My breath caught.
He attempted a smile.
"First thing I want to say is... I'm sorry."
I gripped the edge of the desk.
"I spent so much time worrying about making sure you had a decent life that I forgot something pretty important. Life's supposed to make you happy, too. Not just pay the bills."
He shook his head.
He paused.
"When your mom died, I got scared. I thought if I worked hard enough, kept a roof over our heads, and made sure you learned to stand on your own two feet, I'd be doing my job."
