I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the framed picture in my hands. My son’s bright smile looks back at me, frozen in time. It feels like just yesterday when he was running through the house, his laughter filling every empty space. But now… now the house is quiet. Too quiet.
I reach for my phone, scrolling through old messages. “Good morning, Dad! Don’t forget to eat today.” “Hey, I saw this and thought of you!” “Love you, old man. Talk soon.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. Talk soon. But soon never came.
The accident was sudden. The call I never wanted to receive shattered my world. A reckless driver, a moment of carelessness, and my boy was gone. Just like that.
I grip the picture tighter. My son. My pride. My reason to keep going. But how do I keep going without him?
A knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. It’s my granddaughter, his daughter. She’s holding a drawing—stick figures of us, smiling under the sun. “Grandpa, Daddy said you need to smile more,” she says, her innocent eyes full of love.
I exhale, feeling the weight on my chest shift slightly. Maybe he’s gone, but a part of him still remains. In her smile. In her laughter. In the love he left behind.
I pull her into a hug. “You’re right, sweetheart. Daddy was always the smart one.”
And for the first time in a long time, I manage a small, broken smile.
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