He went on. Without us. He went on. His last hug lingered, his last words still dripped from my skin. At the uncertain hour, he was taken from us without warning, without a sigh or the gift of breath. He went on.
Never forget the day when I placed his granddaughter gently on our bed, sitting with my knees against the floor watching her chest rise and fall with the gift she was given. The breath of life seeping into her, filling her with knowledge, love, laughter and life. But he went on. She’ll never know him. She won’t remember him sitting in a chair in my room waiting for her birth, for her cries to fill the room, for his world to go on. He did go on.
Without us, without permission, without goodbyes, he went on.
Could his son ever tame emotions that fly past, in the night? He went on. We could not, did not, would not. Go on. But we went on. We moved on. Without him. More children filled our lives, more love seeped out of our souls, gifted to the world, to the ones we love.
She’s grown since that day. She’s changed. She laughs the way he did. At the things he laughed at. She sees him in clouds though can’t remember his face. She will go on.
Ten years ago, we lost my father in law. Our first child was 6 weeks old. He held her once. Today, I think of him. His son, his grandchildren, and his wife, my mother in law. We all go on. We have to. Some days we need to be reminded of how to go on. This month I need many reminders. But I will. Go on.