As I sit here with my son, who just missed his brother here not long ago, it dawns on me that they’ve been taking turns checking in. This whole time I’ve been down here, from the minute I got the call about my father’s passing, I contemplated how I could make it right for my kids. How do I guide them through something I know nothing about?

Maybe it’s my conditioning, but I never thought I deserved the space to feel fully until now. Perhaps this is a final test, to see how well I’ve gotten to know myself. My children are the heart and soul of what’s driven me to keep moving forward. Without them, I may have lost hope years ago. What a weight I’ve given them to carry.

I want my children to live. I want a drive for life to arise from this transformative death they’ve come to witness. Death isn’t final for the ones left behind; it’s an opening to a new beginning. It’s a way we can find ourselves through our grief and express what life really means to us.

May this death be like an old fallen tree on the forest floor, may it feed new life, may it nourish its children. May it rest in peace.