I stared at him.
"Do you have any idea what it was like thinking you couldn't bear to have a blind daughter?"
Dad covered his face.
For several moments, he couldn't speak.
Then he whispered:
**"There is no explanation that can give you those years back. I should have found a better way to stay in your life."**
I began crying harder.
For the first time, I saw my father cry.
And I realized that having sight didn't necessarily make understanding people easier.
Sometimes, it only revealed how deeply they were hurting.
***
Before he left, Dad gave me the digital storage device.
"What's on it?" I asked.
"Copies of the research records I preserved. Some have been independently verified. Others still need review."
I looked at him.
"Why give them to me now?"
"Because they're about you. You should have been able to decide what happened with them years ago."
