This past week I've born witness to the power of the written word.
I remember reading somewhere that psychologists ask patients who have suffered trauma to write about it so that they can experience it from a different perspective. Apparently by distancing themselves from the actual event they're able to come to terms with what happened and start the healing process.
By describing how I was feeling in very honest terms not only was it hugely therapeutic for me, but more than one person who read my blog said it had helped them come to terms with a similar event in their lives.
It was then that I realised being able to express yourself through the written word is a privilege.
I'm a pretty open person. I'm willing to share my inner thoughts more than most. By doing so I reveal my frailties and describe whatever angst I'm going through at the time.
I'd imagine some who read my ramblings wonder why I'm prepared to give so much away.
All I can say is that the last seven days has taught me that quite simply it is better out than in.
I kept my thoughts (on Becky losing a child following a miscarriage last August) to myself for almost a year. I put what happened to one side. I didn't even realise that's what I'd done. Then when it happened again last week the reality hit me twice as hard.
As a result of recent events I've resolved myself to tell those close to me how I feel more often by writing it down.
Hand written letters may be a thing of the past but carefully crafted words are not. So every opportunity I get I'm going to take it. Be that a timely email or a message in a greetings card.
And there's no time like the present. Father's Day is tomorrow.
As it happens my dad and I aren't normally the gushy type with one another. We talk about football and work and stuff. But I figured I ought to tell him how much I admire him. How I couldn't have wished for a better dad and that I hope one day my own daughters will look up to me the same way I look up to him.