the man i only began to know when he was already gone 

i have a soft spot for dads that are trying—
ones that would do anything for their kid.
the quiet ones.
the stubborn but gentle ones.
the ones who carry the world on their back
and still come home with a smile
because they know someone small is waiting
on the other side of the door.

dads who give everything,
even if it means having less for themselves.
even if it means having nothing left at all.

i see them now.
in grocery aisles, comparing prices.
in secondhand stores, holding up shoes
that might just fit.
in their silence.
in the way they listen more than they speak.

and every time, something in me aches.
something in me remembers.
or tries to.

because maybe this softness didn’t come from admiration.
maybe it came from absence.
maybe it came from loss.

i lost my dad before i ever really had the chance to see him.
not as a provider.
not as a protector.
not as a man with calloused hands and tired eyes
who loved in ways words never could.

i was too young.
too distracted.
too focused on what i thought fathers were supposed to be,
to realize what he already was.

he was there—
but i didn’t understand how.

and now that he’s gone,
i can’t stop seeing the things i missed.

i remember how he used to bring home small things
that didn’t cost much, but felt like the world.
how he never said “i love you” in words,
but in actions—
a repaired toy,
a shared silence,
a steady hand on my shoulder
when the world got loud.

how he made the house feel warm,
even when money was tight.
how he taught us to laugh,
even when things were breaking.
including him.

and i think—
what kind of man keeps giving,
even as he’s running on empty?

what kind of love is that?

i wish i’d known then.
i wish i’d said thank you more.
asked him about his day.
asked him what he gave up for us.

but kids don’t know how to look past themselves
until it’s too late.

and by the time i was old enough to understand,
he had already faded into memories
that feel more like stories now.
not quite touchable.
not quite real.

and yet,
so deeply part of me.

so here it is.
the thing i never said.
the thing i carry quietly.

i saw you,
even when i didn’t know i was looking.
i miss you,
in ways i can’t fully explain.
and i love you,
more deeply now than i ever could have then.

this soft spot—
it’s yours.
it’s the space you left behind.

and i keep it tender,
so i never forget what real love looks like.

especially when it wears work clothes
and comes home tired.
especially when it never asks for recognition.
especially when it’s gone too soon.