A Late Night With My Father

My father is one of the strongest people I have come to know,
but sometimes I see the way he stops and thinks
and how his eyes turn down
and he strokes his grey beard
and he lets his guard down a little
to think of things that have haunted him
since he was too young to understand.
A month ago (was it now?),
my father told me about my grandpa.
I've heard stories about my grandpa
and I think he was also very strong,
but my father never told me how he died.
He kept quiet about that part and I soon understood why
when someone dear to me passed
and I simply forgot how to talk about it
or how to explain it to someone else.
It was late at night
and I had school the following morning,
but he kept me awake to tell me about my grandpa
and I listened because I wanted to know.
I've seen my father cry,
but it’s a rare occurrence.
I used to think he was a little scary
because he was big and strong and he could really yell,
but I realized not long ago
that he had so many things tucked inside of him
that he just wanted to be strong for us
and never let them take a hold of us too.
He told me that night about my grandpa
and what had happened to him.
My grandpa died of cancer when my dad was fifteen.
While the other kids were going out with their friends,
he was at the hospital holding his father's hand.
He said that there were times when he wished,
hoped, that his father wouldn’t mind
if he skipped his visit to go out a little.
My grandpa had fought in the war,
so he wasn't always there before cancer anyways,
but now he was really losing his grip
and that was painful for my father to watch.
He was there in his last moments.
Mind you, this was the seventies.
My father listened to The Beatles
and I still listen to "Yesterday"
and think about the way my dad would sing it,
so softly and lovingly
as though he were singing to a dove,
and I melt a little on the inside
because that's the father I remember.
I still listen to The Beatles and think
about how my father would almost scream the lyrics
and about how he would do it every road trip
and how he didn't sing them anymore.
I can’t imagine the pain in his heart
no matter the number of friends I’ve lost
because there’s something about losing a father
that can really hurt a son.
I can’t imagine looking back on him
and having nothing but years without him
to spare thinking back.
The day before, around my birthday,
was the anniversary of my grandpa’s death
and it was a sad day for him that I knew nothing about.
He did something I’ve never seen him do
and that was admitting that he missed him a lot
despite having been so young.
He wishes that he could talk to him about his life
and show him what he’s accomplished
and above all,
he wants his father to be proud of him.
The first thing I thought upon hearing this was,
‘There’s no way he’s not.’
There’s no way he’s not proud of his son
when he's become so kind
and caring enough
to raise three children,
send one to college (something his mother couldn't do),
cheer for the other at her hockey games,
sing with the youngest with a sweet vibrato.
It's just impossible to not be proud of that,
so if he's not (which I doubt), 
then I am.