Post by Alfred Elvis (@Demigrant001)

Father's Day always brings me back to simple things.
To the man who insisted on locking the doors before bedtime.
To the familiar sound of his cough from the living room.
To the way he would clear his throat before offering advice nobody asked for, yet everyone needed.
To the man who knew the answer to almost everything—or at least made you believe he did.
And then one day, the chair remained occupied only by memories.
The phone no longer rang with his voice.
The laughter became stories.
And Father's Day became less about celebration and more about gratitude.
For those of us who have lost a good father, we know that grief is merely love with nowhere to go.
Yet what a privilege it was to have known such a man.
For though death may separate hands, it cannot separate influence.
And if today finds you missing your father, may your tears remind you not only of what you have lost, but of what you were blessed enough to have.

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