When My Dad Died, I Went Into the Basement He Never Let Me Enter, & What I Found Changed Everything— Story of the Day

He just knelt beside me, his jeans soaking up the rain from the gravel.

“You don’t have to say a word,” he said. “Just stand next to me.

I’ll be with you the whole time.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them.

“It feels too real now. Like… if I walk out there, and see the casket, then it’s done.

He’s really gone. And I’m really alone.”

“You’re not alone,” he whispered, reaching for my hand. “I’m right here.

Come on.”

I let him pull me out of the car. My legs felt stiff, like they belonged to someone else. The rain kissed my face as we walked, cold and light.

Each step toward the casket felt like I was sinking deeper into wet cement. I didn’t want to move, but Caleb kept me steady.

When we reached the grave, the pastor paused and gave me a soft nod. Everyone turned.

I felt their eyes—full of pity, sympathy, but not understanding. None of them knew how much my dad meant to me. None of them knew he was all I had left.

Then I saw it.

The coffin. Dark cherry wood. Shiny.

The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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