Cold breath, stomping feet, the sound of sharp blades – Dad glides, stick in hand, puck slaps against the boards. I wanted to say goodbye. Elk hung, dripping in the winters shed, Dad grizzled and dirty from days hunting in the bush. I hardly had a chance to get to know you. The dining car with soft porridge, crisp white tablecloth. The sound of trains always reminds me of you. Black rubber dulls the freezing water of Moraine Lake – deep under murky blackness, breathing apparatus in stillness we share the cold steel tank. Your power kept me distant. I longed to touch your heart. Dinner in the Royal Royce Building in London – you always said ‘learn to dine and converse with Kings and Paupers. The fork is for this…….’ Your steel blue eyes haunting yet incredibly animated. Your stories of building trains in India intrigued me.

I wanted to say ‘I love you’ one last time. Proud and fascinated of you and your many accomplishments. Considerable deep hurt and pain in those tender years, yet you brought ethics, honesty, and wonder into my life. I admired you. I wanted to know your essence. I forgave you so many years ago. Sadness in your eyes. Did you have peace in the end? I miss you. I love you, Dad.                                                                     

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