The truth about Dad's watch

Okay, Sacred Posts, here goes nothing. I have to get this off my chest. It's been eating me up for years, and I don't know who else to tell. It's about my dad, and his watch.

My dad, he wasn't perfect. He was a good man, but he struggled. He worked hard, always, but we were never well-off. Mom worked too, but still, money was always tight. He had this one watch, a really nice one. It was a gift from his dad, my grandpa, and he loved it. He wore it every single day, even when he was doing dirty work around the house or fixing the car. It was like a part of him.

Then, one Christmas, things were especially bad. Dad had lost his job a few months before, and Mom's hours got cut back. We were barely making rent, and there was no money for presents. I remember Dad looking so stressed, so worried. He tried to hide it, but I could see it in his eyes. I was maybe 16 at the time, old enough to understand.

On Christmas morning, there were a few small gifts. Mom had managed to get us something, a small toy or a book. But there was nothing from Dad. I didn't care, not really. I knew things were tough. But later that day, I overheard him talking to Mom in the kitchen. He thought I was outside. He was saying how he felt like a failure, how he couldn't even provide for his family.

Then he said, "I had to pawn the watch."

I stood there, frozen. I knew how much that watch meant to him. It was more than just a watch; it was a piece of his history, a connection to his father. And he had given it up for us. To make sure we had a Christmas. I felt this huge wave of guilt wash over me.

I never said anything. I never told him I knew. He never brought it up again. A few months later, he got a new job, and things slowly got better. But the watch was gone. And the guilt stayed with me.

He died a few years ago. Unexpectedly. A heart attack. I miss him every single day. And every time I think about him, I think about that watch. I should have said something. I should have told him I knew, that I appreciated what he did. I should have tried to get it back for him. But I didn't. I was too young, too scared, too stupid.

Now it's too late. He's gone, and the watch is probably gone too. And I'm left with this regret. This heavy, suffocating feeling that I should have done more. That I should have been a better son. Maybe writing this down will help, even a little. I don't know. I just needed to tell someone.