These are the last few moments.
Silent, in a way only time can understand.
There’s peace in the room.
As a father, once much stronger, holds onto his grown son.
He tells him he is proud of him.
He tells him to never give up.
He holds his hand, kisses it gently, because he knows that soon, he won’t be able to.
He is weak now.
They both are.
But in a way that makes them stronger than they ever have been before.
The fan blows back and fourth,
Like a metronome,
Pulses that still flow.
It is calm.
And as I watch my father cry,
as he watches his own farther die,
I realize that life is okay,
And sometimes this is, too.