The Silence Between Generations

My grandfather fought in a war he never talked about. My father worked sixty-hour weeks and never said he loved me. I tell my son I love him every single day, and he rolls his eyes. Three generations, three different ways of dealing with love. I used to resent my father for his silence. Now I understand he gave me the only thing he knew how to give — stability. The absence of chaos was his love language. I'm trying to do better. That's all any of us can do.