Father's Day

Father's Day has always been complicated for me.

I loved my father deeply. Not just because he was my dad, but because he was a warrior, a veteran, and a man whose strength, service, and determination shaped much of how I view the world. Growing up, he seemed larger than life. His military service, his stories, and the way he carried himself created an image of what I believed fathers were supposed to be.

But life is rarely as simple as the stories we tell ourselves.

When I was fifteen years old, my father and I became separated by a silence that lasted nearly twenty years. During that time, life moved forward whether we were ready for it or not. Milestones came and went. Birthdays were celebrated. Families grew. Time continued its steady march forward while the distance between us remained.

Looking back, I sometimes think about all the moments that were never shared and all the memories that were never made. Not because dwelling on the past changes anything, but because family stories are built one conversation, one holiday, and one ordinary day at a time. When those moments are absent, their absence becomes part of the story too.

For a long time, I focused on what was lost: the conversations, the shared experiences, and the years that slipped away.

But grief changes over time.

As I have grown older, I have learned that we all eventually decide what parts of a person we carry forward. I cannot change the years we lost, and I cannot rewrite his choices that created that distance. What I can do is remember the best of who he was.

I remember a Green Beret who served his country during Vietnam.

I remember a man who taught me resilience, self-reliance, and the importance of keeping my word.

I remember lessons that still guide me today, not only in my personal life but in my advocacy for military families, veterans, caregivers, and survivors.

The silence between us taught me something I never expected to learn: relationships cannot survive without communication. Distance grows when conversations stop. Pride, hurt, and misunderstandings can create gaps that are difficult, and sometimes impossible, to reclaim.

That lesson is one of the reasons I fight so hard for military families today. Service affects entire families, not just the person wearing the uniform. Connections matter. Conversations matter. Time matters.

This Father's Day, I choose to remember my father with gratitude for the good he gave me and grace for the things we never resolved.

I remember the father who helped shape the person I became. I remember the soldier who served his country. I remember the lessons that endured long after the silence began.

Happy Father's Day, Dad.

You are missed. You are remembered. And your story continues through those of us who remain.

Robert Dale Wood
1951–2025
Green Beret
Vietnam Veteran
Father