It was 51 years ago this month that my father died. I was 13 years old.
Though I thought I was mature for my age, I never thought my father could die.
He never regained consciousness after surgery and I was never able to say goodbye.

Perhaps that is why this simple little bracelet has such meaning.
You see, he gave it to me on Valentine's Day when I was a little girl.

My father was a simple man. He worked as a carpenter and made enough money to support his family but not enough to afford any luxuries.
He was a proud man and a hard worker and was happiest working in the basement refinishing a piece of antique furniture.
I can still hear him whistling as he worked.

This is the only gift I can ever remember that he gave to me.
I wore it until the little clasp broke, and since that time it has been tucked away.
Periodically, I will take it out and touch the little pearls wound in gold and remember my surprise when he handed me that tiny box.

Though not worth money, that bracelet speaks of love from a father to a daughter.
It still brings tears to my eyes.
No time to say "goodbye"... no time to once again say, "I love you"...