A father is not meant to bury his son. I have lived long enough to watch my hair turn white, my hands grow weak, and the faces of old friends disappear one by one. I had made my peace with death. I knew someday it would come knocking for me, and I thought I was ready to answer. But it came for you instead. You were supposed to stand where I stand now. You were supposed to curse the rain, wipe your eyes, and lower these tired old bones into the earth. I would have gladly traded places with you. Every remaining breath in my lungs, every miserable year still waiting for me, I would give them all just to hear you laugh once more. When you were born, I held you in my arms and wondered what sort of man you would become. Today, I know. You became a man I was proud to call my son. So sleep now, my boy. Your old father will carry the grief awhile longer. And when my time finally comes, I hope wherever we go after this, you'll be there waiting for me.