A memory of love

Years ago, when my father passed away and we were about to have his funeral. My son, Nathan, was only eight years old at the time and I don’t think he had ever seen me cry before that day.

I wanted him to feel less weird about it so I had a talk with him before the service and told him that if he sees me looking at him and I am crying, seeing him makes me feel stronger.
During the service I was in another world, not letting myself be present in my emotions. I was processing so much and I hadn’t allowed myself to feel the full weight in the finality of it all. At one point during the service I started noticing out of the corner of my eye, some odd movement on the other side of Paula. I tried to stay focused to the words from the pastor speaking, but eventually I turned to look.
Nathan was making himself seen to me, because he wanted me to have that strength I told him he gave me. And that’s the moment when I finally lost it.
He took the words I gave him for comfort and used them as a mission to comfort me.
It’s one of the most beautiful memories I own.
It will be the last memory I ever have.

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