My son is a man of few words. He is a minimalist in the best sense. Having grown up bathed in the sorrow of his sister’s illness and death, he never had a chance to savor this world’s better things. The rug was yanked out from under him too soon.

Today is Father’s Day. He loved his dad and got to spend time with him in the last years of his life. How can you savor sorrow? You can’t. You can only see that.

Today we will get on with things as they are, not as we wish they were. We have learned that, my son and I. That things happen that cannot be changed.

His philosophy is not one of words. It is one of quiet knowing that things cannot be otherwise. He has encouraged me to accept my introversion, to not make hasty decisions, to be wary of things that seem good but in fact are not.

We used to resist each other. This was due to the sorrow. Now we rest in the silence above words. We share a love of humor and truth. We share the empty space where love used to be manifest and is now invisible but ever-present.

My son will not read this, thank goodness, but despite that, it is written.

Vicki Woodyard