Strangely wonderful. That is what it felt like to see Sacha after nearly four months of separation. He seemed taller, more grown up, I could see my father's eyes in his…. more than anything I found a young man in replace of my little boy.
His embrace was a long needed hug and I soaked every bit of it in. I laughed because my head fit perfectly under his chin. I felt like a little mommy. It was good to be the little one, the one in need, the one without the answers, the one who could let down her guard knowing that changing places even if for mere seconds meant that the world did not stop… in fact it smiled. I needed his hug as much as he needed mine.
On the way home he asked me to stop at the cemetery. The moon lite a tiny path. Darkness a soothing blanket, we walked to my dad's grave site and I told Sacha the details of the day Vo was buried…. How the fourteen grandchildren carried candles to the altar, that the church was standing room only to over 700 people, that my four brothers, French Husband and I carried the coffin and it was heavier than I expected, that large red rose buds caressed the altar and a mountain of ivy and greens were placed on his casket. I told him that a procession of forty motorcycles followed us to the grave site and that afterward at the cemetery we let doves go and they flew in circles like a white halo over us before flying home. I continued to tell Sacha that in my small hometown people have a reception after a funeral and that everyone brings food. We had enough food brought by the community to feed everyone there and still food left over to feed over a hundred people that night and the days to come.
At that moment I felt something lift, something shared, and in that dark night I felt home in Sacha's eyes.
Note: French Husband and Chelsea arrive in several days.
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