'let me hug you ,dad'

Dad, do you know how sad our home has been lately?

Do you hear Mom’s sighs at night?

Did you notice how dinner tonight was missing its usual laughter?

Did you see… how all of us were swallowing hard just to keep from crying?

You – the man who spent his whole life for this family –

Now standing between two quiet heartbreaks:

Hold on to your pride… or bow your head to keep the next meal on the table?

Just days ago, our house was still warm.

You told your old stories, Mom pretended to nag,

I laughed.

And somehow, that little warmth was enough.

We didn’t need more than that — just each other, around the same table.

But now… all that's left is the sound of spoons tapping bowls.

Soft. But painful.

The silence doesn’t hug us — it haunts us.

Even the lights feel dimmer. Even the floor seems quieter.

And we all feel like we’re walking around the edges of a wound.

I’m not used to this.

I’m scared of seeing Mom turn away to wipe her tears.

I’m scared of watching you walk in and out, saying nothing.

I’m scared of myself – pretending I’m okay so you won’t worry,

while my heart keeps breaking in small, quiet waves.

I don’t even remember the last time I laughed without forcing it.

Dad,

Do you know how many nights Mom’s cried when she thought I was asleep?

Do you know she held your hand, begging softly:

“Please… call her back.”

But you just shook your head.

Your eyes were red, but you turned away.

Not because you didn’t care — but because caring had already cost you everything.

And that kind of pain — the kind you can’t show — it eats away at you slowly.

You didn’t refuse because you were angry.

You were hurting.

Because you gave your best… and were still treated like someone disposable.

Because you already swallowed your pride once – and it still wasn’t enough.

You didn’t say it, but I could see it...

Somewhere between your dignity and the ache of being overlooked,

you were stuck.

And no one ever taught you how to ask for help, did they?

You’ve always been the strong one. The shield. The backbone.

But even shields can crack. Even mountains can shake.

And yet, you called.

Not because you wanted to go back.

But because of Mom.

Because of me.

Because this little house is swaying with every silent storm inside.

You knew, if you let go now…

Mom would have to return to the countryside, wiping away her tears.

And I’d have to grow up just a little faster…

To help carry this life with you.

To stop being a child before I was ready.

I saw your eyes shimmer, but your head stayed high.

You called.

They picked up.

But said nothing.

Just silence.

Then… hung up.

You turned away.

Didn’t say a word.

But I knew… your heart just cracked.

And me?

I stood behind you, quietly.

Wanting to run forward.

Wanting to say something, anything.

But the words got stuck.

So here I am, writing instead.

If you don’t want to speak of it,

Then let me be the one to say it.

Let me write it down for you.

Write out all this pain, all this strength, all this quiet love.

So that whoever reads it… will know one thing:

You were strong in every possible way a father could be.

And if one day I become half the person you are...

I’ll be proud.

So, Dad…

Let me hug you.