A Letter-Parable to My Sons

Foreword

Sometimes a man walks through life as if along a long road—
at first briskly, then with growing caution, and finally—more and more often looking up at the sky.
And one day, weary of silence, he realizes:
the time has come to say what matters most.
Not about himself—but about those he loves.

This letter is not a confession.
It is a message from a father to his sons.
From heart to heart.
Across generations, across time, across fears and tenderness.

A letter-parable.
About how love can remain silent—yet never die.
How a father may not be near—yet still be present.
About how to pass on the light, even when the torch is no longer in your hands.






My sons…
Two trees that have grown from the same root,
Two stars born from a single breath—
but falling to Earth at different times.

When you were little, I thought everything was still ahead.
When you became grown men, I understood—much is already behind.
And all that remains is the truth,
bare as a tree in the autumn wind.

I was silent for a long time.
Perhaps because my words never knew how to be simple.
Or perhaps because there was such a deep love inside me
that it feared stepping outside—
feared being misunderstood.

A father's love is like an underground river:
You don't see it—but it gives life.
It makes no noise—but it flows, always.

At times I was nearby, yet seemed far.
Like a traveler by the fire—
warming others, but saying little.
Sometimes I withdrew into myself—not from you,
but because I was searching for something
I could pass on…
like a flame,
like meaning,
like the living fire of our lineage.

Now—I simply want you to know:
You are not only my pride.
You are my completion.


---

Ernest,
my eldest,
the one who stepped forward when life called for protection.
You are like an ancient oak—
your roots run deep,
your shade stretches wide,
and in your trunk—kindness resides.

You chose a path where strength is care,
and justice is not a loud voice,
but steady silence beside those
who have no voice of their own.

You build a family where the light never fades.
Your wife is gentleness and strength.
Your daughters—the ringing laughter of tomorrow.
You have become a man
I would wish to resemble, had I been younger.

Sasha,
my youngest,
the one who looks inward.
You don't just understand complexity—
you seek essence.

You unite opposites.
You see the hidden gold in people.
You build bridges—between science and soul,
between worlds, between generations.
You stand beside a woman whose destiny is like a river:
strong, changing, alive.
Together, you are like music and lyrics—
different, yet essential to one another.

I look at you both—
and I see not just sons,
but two distinct, radiant paths.
Each glowing from within.


---

I ask you:
Do not cling to me when the time comes.
Let old age be not a prison, but a quietness.
Let my body, when it weakens, find a place
with care, and with dignity—
Not out of pity,
but out of love.
Not from duty,
but from respect.

I am not afraid of death—
but I do not want to hinder your lives.

And if someday you feel
someone pass softly through the room,
or the curtain stirs for no reason—
it may be me.

If a granddaughter suddenly says:
“Grandpa came to my dream. He didn’t speak, but he looked at me”—
believe her: I was near.


---

Remember—
life is not measured by length.
It is measured by
whom we love,
and how we love.
What we forgive—
and how often we embrace.

Protect each other.
Don’t hoard your silences.
Let your children witness
what brotherhood, love, and kindness look like in action.
Let them know:
A man is not only strength.
He is tenderness, honor,
and the ability to step back without losing his dignity.

You are my branches.
I—your root.
May that root nourish you
even when I’m no longer beside you.

I love you.
In my own way.
Quietly. Stubbornly. Awkwardly.
But—forever.

Papa


---

Afterword

If you’ve ever held an old seashell in your palm,
you know: even silent stone can hold the voice of the ocean.
So too with this letter.
It may be quiet—but inside, the breath of a father still echoes.

To all who read it,
let it be a reminder:
Don’t be afraid to tell those you love.
Don’t hesitate to be warm.
Don’t wait for the “right” moment—it is already here.

Life fades.
But the traces of love remain.
They do not vanish—even after the last step is taken.
They become the path for those who walk behind.

Let this letter be not a farewell—
but a bridge.
From heart to heart.
From time to eternity.