When I got there, he was gone. He’d already left. All that remained was his body. Some hollow shell.

Everything was turned off. No  heart monitor, nor oxygen mask, just three children standing by a body once occupied by their dad.

It was strange how he went, the youngest son said. The old man said he felt dizzy and then fell into my arms.

It wasn’t that dramatic, the sister said. He just now died, said the middle child, she stared at the youngest. Just like you. Always putting yourself first.

Stop it, you two, the oldest brother told them. He’s gone. Doesn’t matter when. He’s dead, he let go of the cold hand. I told him before he died that I’d make sure you two were OK, he looked at both of them. And, what do I mean by that? I mean, to make sure there’s no ill will between you. Make sure we all get along. 

There was silence. No one spoke. They bowed their heads. The younger brother and sister stared at each other.

Lord, take our father into your arms, he said. May your love be with him for eternity, the eldest prayed. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

They walked out single-file. Each looked down at the floor. You two take care, he told them. I’ll make arrangements.

No one said, I love you. No one embraced. Just three kids leaving their dad.