bittersweet

On that day I was given a gift.

On that day I grew closer to my father in a way that is forever tangibly etched in my mind. Did she know? Could my Nana, in her angelic ways, have known, even her passing would have a side of such light.

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I stood next to my father, first in line behind the casket of his mother, my grandmother. All was silent. I put my arm firmly around his back, rested my head on his shoulder, willed my tears back. He looked at me, eyes raw, red, his body hunched over, his hand reached for my shoulder as he lost his breath. For just one moment he said, "I can't do this."

My tears will not surface now. He needs me. "I love you," and I wrap my arms as tightly as they will go around my dad.

The solemn music begins and the march down the isle ensues. This is, as bad as it gets. The music, so beautiful only intensifies the sorrow somehow. I sit next to my father. The last thing he wants to do is read his approaching eulogy, his breath is heavy. I reach for his hand. We just sit like that for a while, and I hold my father's hand. I want him to know how much I love him, that I am here, that I will always be here. He knows. I know he knows. It is unspeakable.

There are moments in life that are just so beautiful you lose your breath for a second. Almost as if your life, all of it, is encapsulated in that breath, like you're holding onto it, knowing it will pass, as moments do, and you're trying so hard to cling to it. It was being close to my father and holding his hand, that will be one of my fondest, bittersweet memories of all my days.