For five hours, nine siblings took turns telling one father, “Thank you.”
There were tears. There was laughter. There were stories we’d never heard before.
Sometimes the greatest inheritance isn’t land. It’s believing in your children before they believe in themselves. 
🌹 The Flowers He Could Still Smell
A three-part series on caregiving, gratitude, healing and legacy.
Part 2 of 3
- ✅ Act I: The Healing Journey: A Story of Gratitude
- ✅ Act II: The Gift of Gratitude: Honoring Our Father (You’re here)
- ✅ Act III: Honoring Our Father’s Legacy
“Let the redeemed of the Lord tell their story…” Psalm 107:2
The rules were simple.
Walk over to Dad. Sit beside him. Lean in close enough, for him to hear.
And tell him something you’ve never properly thanked him for.
No speeches.
No preaching.
Just gratitude.
Funny how the simplest instructions can become the hardest.
The First Flower
Esther went first.
Firstborns always do.
She sat quietly beside Dad, held his hand and smiled.
Then she said something none of us expected.
“Dad… thank you for giving birth to me.”
Not for paying school fees. Not for buying clothes. Not for sacrifices.
Just…
“Thank you for giving me a chance at life.”
For a moment the room fell silent.
This was the same daughter who had spent part of her childhood in a children’s home, while Mum battled mental illness.
(Read: When Love Burns: Living Through the Fire of a Spouse’s Mental Breakdown)
The same daughter Dad later welcomed back into the family.
The same daughter he stood by when she became pregnant as a young woman. Choosing compassion over public image. Even though he was a pastor (then).
Later he found her a casual job at Unga Limited.
Today, decades later, she still earns her living from that career path.
Then she looked Dad in the eye.
“There is a reason God gave you Daniel as your first son.”
She paused.
“This whole/healing journey has shown us why.”
At that point, the room officially became unsafe for dry eyes.
The Engineer Dad Saw Before Anyone Else Did
Daniel smiled.
He reminded Dad of the scholarship to India.
Of the casual job at Unga Limited.
Of the journey that eventually made him an engineer.
He never actually said the sentence.
He didn’t need to.
We all heard it.
“Thank you for believing in an engineer before I did.”
Parents have funny eyesight.
Sometimes they see tomorrow, while their children are still arguing with today.
A Pastor Hidden Inside a Rebel
Then came John.
If children came with instruction manuals…
John misplaced his. More than once.
He admitted, he hadn’t always been the easiest son to raise.
Yet Dad never withdrew his love.
He corrected him. Waited for him. Called him back.
Then one day… Ordained him.
Today John pastors in the very ministry Dad founded.
He smiled through watery eyes.
“Dad… you saw a pastor in me, when nobody else did.”
Sometimes all a calling needs…
…is one person stubborn enough to believe it exists.
Then Mary, John’s wife, leaned in with a smile.
“Dad, thank you for welcoming me. Not just as a daughter-in-law, but as your own daughter.”
She spoke of the many quiet ways Dad had stood with their family. Through the joys, the uncertainties, and the ordinary seasons that make up marriage.
Looking back, she said, they had come this far because of his steady encouragement and support.
Then she prayed over him.
“May God grant you peace, strength, and many more days, months, and years with us.”
Dad smiled before leaving her with one final charge.
“Keep supporting your husband in God’s work.”
Spoken like a bishop. Spoken like a father.
The Dream That Waited
Sammy surprised all of us.
He confessed something he had carried for years.
“Dad, I became stressed watching you struggle to pay school fees for me and my younger siblings.”
None of us knew.
He remembered Mombasa Polytechnic. Kenya Polytechnic.
Mechanical engineering.
A dream interrupted, because he could see the financial pressure mounting at home.
He quietly laid down his own ambition so the rest of us could continue ours.
Children notice far more than parents imagine.
Even when they never say a word.
A Brother Who Never Stopped Fighting
Mwangi smiled as he looked at Dad.
“You loved us in every season. Even when we failed and faltered.”
There was no long speech.
Just a simple truth.
Dad had never measured his love by our performance.
He loved us on our best days.
And on the days we wished we could erase.
Ironically, before I shared my own appreciation, I found myself thinking about the story of Mwangi’s birth.
Because if there was ever a child who arrived during one of our family’s darkest seasons…
…it was him.
Why Joseph Exists
Then it was my turn.
After Mwangi spoke, Dad opened a chapter of our family’s history that few of us had fully understood. Mum was carrying him at the time…
She was admitted to a mental hospital. Escaped the ward more than once and in one attempt injured herself badly.
While being rushed to another hospital, Mwangi was born, in an ambulance.
Dad was away when it happened. He returned to find himself handed a one-day-old baby. Mum went back (to Mathari mental hospital) for treatment.
Dad took the newborn home. Then made the painful decision to place Mwangi and Sammy in a children’s home, while he tried to hold life together.
Two years later… They had another child. That child was me.
So I looked at Dad, smiled and decided laughter would be safer than tears.
“Dad… honestly… if I were you, Mwangi would probably have been my lastborn.”
The room erupted. Even Dad laughed. Thankfully… Dad wasn’t me.
Because after Mwangi… came Joseph Ngaara. Me.
Then I told Dad something I had never fully said.
“You believed in my academic excellence long before I believed in it myself.”
When I missed medicine and was admitted to Biomedical Science instead, I thought a dream had ended.
Dad thought differently.
He raised Ksh. 30,000. Borrowed. Appealed. Fundraised.
Whatever it took.
Because he wasn’t paying school fees. He was investing in possibility.
Then another memory returned.
Before joining college, I started selling chicken and animal feed.
Business was booming. Until someone from church quietly destroyed my reputation.
Customers disappeared. The business collapsed.
I went to Dad. Expecting strategy. He gave me something better.
“Pray that God gives you a big heart. One large enough to accommodate all kinds of people.”
I’ve carried that prayer longer than I ever carried chicken.
Mercy, my wife, looked at Dad.
“You encouraged us to buy land… where we eventually built our home.”
He wasn’t helping us buy land.
He was helping us plant permanence.
The Fathers We Never Knew We Needed
Njeri didn’t just thank Dad for raising her.
She thanked him for raising her daughters.
“You’ve been both grandfather and father to my girls.”
Some men don’t simply raise children.
They raise generations.
When Forgiveness Builds Houses
Then Damah (Peter’s wife) spoke.
She reminded us of a season when Peter and Dad had fallen out.
Silence filled the relationship. Pride sat comfortably on both sides.
Until she persuaded her husband.
“Go and request your dad for forgiveness.”
He did.
Dad embraced him immediately. Relationship restored.
Not long afterward…
They bought their first (three) pieces of land and a car.
She smiled.
“Everything changed after reconciliation.”
Sometimes forgiveness is the foundation beneath the house…
…long before the concrete arrives.
Character Is Also an Inheritance
Maurine, our youngest brother’s wife, came from a different community.
She spoke about how welcomed she felt in our family.
Then she smiled at Dad.
“My husband got his generous heart from you.”
What a compliment.
Land titles are transferable. So is generosity.
One appreciates (in value) faster than the other.
The Bouquet Nobody Expected
Somewhere between the first appreciation and the last…
Something extraordinary happened.
Nobody talked about inheritance. Nobody argued about land. Nobody compared who Dad had done more for.
Because a different inheritance had quietly filled the room.
Belief.
Every single child sitting there had received it differently.
One received education.
Another restoration. Another acceptance. Another a calling. Another courage. Another a second chance.
Yet underneath every story lay the same gift.
Dad believed in us…
…long before we became the people sitting in that living room.
Looking around, I realised something.
Perhaps this was never about giving Dad flowers.
We were discovering the fragrance he had quietly left on every one of our lives.
🌹 The Flowers He Could Still Smell
#HonorYourParents #StillStandng #HealingJourney #FaithAndFamily #LegacyInMotion #Gratitude #ImpossibleIsNothing #HopeLives #GiveThemTheirFlowers
Joseph Ngaara is inspired by people’s stories, especially those shaped by faith, resilience, and grace. If you’ve walked through triumph, tragedy, or something beautifully in between and feel ready to share, my inbox is open. 📩 j.mungai@hotmail.co.uk
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So profound ❤️
Wow wow wow this is so inspiring n now since I’m a parent I’ve learnt a lot through your dad. Thank you 🙏