By Donal Hughes
My parents never said it, not to each other, not to any of us, their nine children. We never said it either – show don’t tell. But they showed it every day. The small things: a smile that said it all, Sunday dinners, ice cream in summer, a week in my uncle’s caravan by the seaside every year, always in two batches because of the cows. Christmas and Santa, the highlight of the year. And the big things: piano lessons, books, education, money when money was tight.
I tried to tell him on his deathbed, but the word wouldn’t come. It would have been incongruous somehow. Or so I thought. I knew I would never see him alive again. And so, I took the plane back across the pond to America, only to return a month later for the funeral. But the word never left my mind, wouldn’t leave, boring through my brain like a mole.
And then, as the dirt was being shoveled over his coffin, my mother and sisters inconsolable, I glanced over at my five brothers, upright and stoic in their ill-fitting dark suits and sports jackets. And I wanted to scream it out, at the top of my voice – I love you, Daddy.
Then, hands shaken, condolences given, relatives, friends, neighbours. And afterwards, the meal. Quiet conversation, reminiscences, subdued laughter at some humorous anecdote or other, like the time he lost his balance with the wheelbarrow and fell into the pile of cow dung.
Then the leaving, goodbyes and hugs all around. “I’ll try to get back next year,” I said, knowing I wouldn’t.
And out of the blue my little niece burst into tears, grabbed my hand and said, “I love you Uncle Frankie.”
And there it was.
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Donal Hughes, a retired construction worker/builder, grew up on a small farm in Ireland.
He is a keen photographer but took up writing during Covid because “you didn’t have to leave your house, and all you need is a pen and a sheet of paper.” He has written several short stories, which he describes as “drafts”. This is his first flash piece.
For the past 33 years, he has lived with his wife in that village of “broad lawns and narrow minds” at the western edge of Chicago.