I woke with the distinct feeling that I need to talk to my father - about being his son, about many things that I felt during his fathering of me - the gift, the wound, the gift in the wound.

I was deeply impacted by my father’s presence and lack of presence.

I have told my mother many things about how she affected me - but my father remains a silent, lurking figure - just beyond reach. How to find him? How to start a real conversation? The ones like when I broke up with girls and he just sat with me, felt with me. That - that kind of conversation.

My father is not a sad, grumpy, bitter old man. He is more in his heart than I’ve ever seen - and that is the place, the location of conversation - the heart. How do I get there? Start, start close in with whats on your heart - Laura - the grief, the loneliness, the longing and move out into the past - meander amongst the sheep paths, farm gates and the many cups of tea around table.

Do the full circle - leave little unsaid - but in kindness - in a reverency for the life between you - knowing that this too is part of the life between you - the father and your sons. In this complex web of story, memory, hurt and disappointment there is deep love - and when you start from that depth of gratitude only more love can come of it.