Dad only smoked a pipe when he was at the end of his rope. Though sometimes I contributed to its fraying, more often, the harsh realities of his crushed dream of becoming an architect led him to wander the neighborhood, puffing away, as he contemplated how he, without an education, could have designed its houses better.
This story is so poignant. It made me think of my own dad who was robbed of his retirement by Parkinson’s and aphasia, lost his voice and his ability to tinker around the house and the yard he so dearly loved. He had worked until he was eighty, taking care of my sick mom for the last 10-15 of that. When he finally retired, he should have been free to do what he wanted, but instead became disabled by the disease.
What a lovely story and a good reminder of how who we are influences the children and grandchildren in our lives. 🥰
I love this story
Beautiful. For anyone who has ever lost someone close, this story hits home. The two had a special relationship!
This is a lovely portrait and wonderful story.
Oh! What a great dad 💞
At first, I thought you were switching to non-fiction. Well done.
This story is so poignant. It made me think of my own dad who was robbed of his retirement by Parkinson’s and aphasia, lost his voice and his ability to tinker around the house and the yard he so dearly loved. He had worked until he was eighty, taking care of my sick mom for the last 10-15 of that. When he finally retired, he should have been free to do what he wanted, but instead became disabled by the disease.