He asks for no tears—
as if love could be so quiet,
as if a lifetime of his hands
could be folded neatly into silence.
He reminds us gently:
life turns like the seasons—
what blooms must one day fall,
what falls returns to earth again.
And so he walks this final path
not with fear, but with knowing—
as the river does not mourn
when it meets the sea.
Still, our hearts are human—
they tremble, they ache, they remember.
If tears come, they will not be sorrow alone,
but gratitude made visible.
For he has lived,
and loved,
and given us roots strong enough
to stand when he is gone.
So we will try—
to honor his wish,
to hold our grief like a quiet prayer,
and to see, as he does,
that endings are only
another kind of beginning.
I love you, Ba.
Con Nữ