sole them. Megan and Marty sit behind them, their two-year-old daughter, Clover (no, I’m not joking; yes, it’s the worst name in the world), sitting on her father’s lap.
This is who I am, okay?
These people.
It’s in the warmth I feel at them standing at my side.
It’s the way my son’s hand feels in mine.
The way my daughter raises her arms for her daddy to pick her up.
The way JJ sighs dreamily at Izzie.
The way Izzie elbows him in the gut.
It’s in the way Creed tells him to keep it in his pants, while Anna sighs and shakes her head.
And it’s in the way Dom takes a sharp breath at the sight of my brother walking toward him, like the very idea of breathing has become an impossibility. It’s in the way Ty only has eyes for him with each deliberate step he takes. It’s in the way Dom cries the moment before he kisses Tyson for the first time as a married couple, the way our family stands and yells and throws confetti, the way they surround us, everyone talking all at once, voices joyous and happy. It’s in the way that I think I catch sight of an old woman smiling at us from just down the beach, raising a hand just once, but as soon as I look again, there’s no one there.
These are the moments.
For better or worse, this is us.
For all of our wrongs and for all of our rights, this is us.
WE’VE BEEN on this road for a while now, you and I.
And I thank you for that.
But I think there comes a time in every story when the end comes, the pages dwindling, the people happy.
And we are.
I promise you.
We’re happy.
There may be days that are harder than others, but that’s life. We’ll figure it out. We always do.
Thank you. For this. For listening all this time.
Saying goodbye is rough. I think I told you once that goodbye sounds so stupid and final and blah, blah, blah. But I was younger then. I didn’t know what I know now.
Roads can diverge.
It’s tough but true.
It’ll be okay. In the end.
So you’ll go one way.
And we’ll go another.
Maybe one day we’ll meet again.
But even if we don’t, remember this:
We have lived.