The Weight of a Father’s Love

The Weight of a Father’s Love

In the morning, I’d go there with his Tim Horton’s coffee. We’d sit, not talking a whole lot, as neither of us really knew what to say. I could feel his love as a physical manifestation. I could feel the weight of it on my shoulders. To call it a burden would be wrong, as how can love be a burden? But it felt like a burden nonetheless. It felt like a load I had to carry. It felt like a debt I owed that could never fully be paid back.