As far as she knew, her father had never cried. She had seen it coming, but never becoming real, until yesterday.
Yesterday, he spoke of the weather. Yesterday, he spoke of the doctor. Yesterday he spoke of things disappearing. He spoke of her mother. He spoke.
Yesterday, he spoke and then choked. He choked on tears, real tears rimming his eyes, real tears running down his face, real tears falling as he bent over to cry.
She knelt on the floor beside him. She knelt down to catch his tears. To catch his tears in a bowl. She cradled the bowl in her hands to see that they were real. So he could see that they were real. So they both could know that all of it….was real.
There, on the floor, beside him, she cried also, for her mother, for his wife and they wept together into a bowl of tears.