Bapak always taught us so many things.
The kind of lessons that stay, even when the words fade. Simple things. Good things. Things I try to remember without always realizing I do. I know he hoped to lead by example. To leave behind more than just advice, to live in a way his children could follow.
But Xavier didn’t get to see much of that. He was still too small when the world changed. So I’ve taken up the role. The first example. The one who walks ahead, hoping the trail is kind enough for his feet too.
The rest, he’ll learn from those around him. He’ll find kindness in the voices near him. He’ll notice how good men speak. He’ll see how love is offered and held.
Bapak used to say, “Sayangi orangtuamu, terutama yang melahirkanmu, sayangi dengan sepenuh hati.” And the woman you choose someday, love her just the same.
Xavier never heard that. And he didn’t see Bapak kneel down with flowers. Maybe no one showed him how to make moments tender. But he did it anyway. He knelt. He gave Mami flowers. Not because he was told, because something in him knew. Like it runs in our blood.
Is that what it is? Is that how love gets passed down? Not always through words. Sometimes just through silence and bone.
I’m glad. Truly, deeply glad.
Glad that Xavier loves Mami the way he does. Glad to watch it bloom in him. Glad to see softness grow where no one had to teach it.
It’s almost funny, how much joy that gives me. It quiets something inside. Makes space in my chest.
That’s what it feels like.
