His Presence Was His Love Language

His Presence Was His Love Language

This weekend marks two Father’s Days without my dad, Hilton Gallien. He passed away after a long battle with dementia. Last year, I shared a four-part series about him that gives a fuller picture of the man he was and why losing him still hits hard. This year, I’m simply reflecting on his presence in my life.

What His Presence Looked Like

My dad was a man of few words. He didn’t need to say “I love you” every day for his kids to feel it. His presence was his love language.

He and my mom raised seven kids together (no small feat). He worked as a welder while my mom kept the home. Despite being the sole provider for a family of nine, he always made it a priority to show up for us.

I remember a period of time, where he commuted two hours each way to work a twelve-hour shift. Every day he would come home exhausted and still show up: calm, steady, and present.

My dad was gifted with his hands. My siblings and I would ask him to build things like a seesaw, a rabbit cage, or whatever we dreamed up. Instead of putting it off until we forgot, he would get to work, turning our ideas into reality.

He also loved gardening, and that love trickled down to every one of us. When we were young, he let us work alongside him, growing sweet potatoes, cucumbers, and more. I like to think the love we shared grew even more abundantly than our harvests.

What It Taught Me

My dad’s example taught me that actions speak louder than words. He didn’t have to say it; he lived it.

As a lawyer, I can be wordy since words are how I earn a living. But sometimes I think of him and I’m reminded to simply be still and be present for my kids.

Watching him lead with his presence also taught me that the love we give our children isn’t built in a single moment. It’s built through consistency. The more we show up, the more our kids will trust that our love is real.

How It Lives On

My dad’s legacy lives on in my children. Even after dementia took his memory, I made it a point to bring my kids to visit him regularly. They carry memories of his quiet, loving presence, and they will move through life with those memories as a foundation.

I’ll leave you with this: some of life’s most important lessons don’t need big words. Neither does this one:

If you love someone, show up.