I am walking with my son, Virgil, through the woods so we can spend time together. Every moment we spend together makes me feel like I am doing something right in his eyes. Unfortunately, I don't play with him or express intense emotions like a normal father should when around his kid. Due to the fact that I am prone to heart troubles, I don't get overexcited or active when caring for my son. I noticed that he was becoming less social towards other kids as time went by and I feel guilty for being a factor for that sort of behavior. I don't want to frighten Virgil, so I am always faced with the ultimatum of "play with your boy or survive long enough to see your boy grow introverted." That being said, it makes me even more grateful for the times we spend together when I can make him smile without too much of a need to cling to my chest and take deep breaths until my chest stops hurting. Some of the activities that we love partaking in together are reading simple poetry that I was able to teach someone his age, looking at the stars and connecting the dots, and even going on walks in the woods as long as he has his special jacket with him and I provide facts for him about nature that can disprove his worries. No matter the temperature, he always feels safe in his big purple jacket and I would never separate him from something that makes him feel safe.

After we walked a certain distance, I decide placing him on my shoulders would be more enjoyable. Not only is he not the biggest fan of walking for so long without a break, but he can get a better view of the path we're on. As if that's not good enough, I still have him close enough to me for him to not wander off when I have my moments of needing to ease my heart.

I see a river ahead of us and think it would be a good idea to take in the sight, smell, and sound of the flowing river before we head back to the car. However, it seems even nature has a sense of humor; the wind is picking up just as Virgil was playing with the fabric of his unzipped jacket and it is carrying it over the river where is clings to a tree branch that looks like it's tall enough for me to reach. Although I can't see, I know Virgil is distressed at the potential loss of his safety object. Since I'm not an idiot, I take a good look at the river and can tell it is deep enough for me to swim, yet the flows are strong enough for me to require a lot of my strength to swim across it. I don't want to deprive Virgil of his safety object and I don't want him to be scared in case there was a chance my heart would grow exhausted before I made it across the river. I tell Virgil that we will be heading across the river and to sing a certain song we're both familiar with so that the journey can feel shorter for him. I make it in with Virgil clinging to me and singing the song. As anticipated, the flow of the river is strong enough to shove me off of my intended path, yet I continue to swim forward. I feel my chest experience more pain than I was used to, but all that matters to me is getting Virgil across the river safely and getting his jacket.

I make it to the other side of the river with Virgil still clinging to me as I climb out. I reach for the jacket and give it to him before I bring my attention to my harsh breathing and the massive pain in my chest. Exhaustion and pain take control of me and I am well aware of what is happening to me. I sit down so I can get Virgil off of my shoulders so that he wasn't hurt from me succumbing to exhaustion and gravity. I lie down and look at my son, Virgil Orion, and I can see so much of our time together playing as a slideshow right behind him. I know I am not the best father, but I just wish he knows how much I love him more than I can express. He's not only my son, but he's my best friend and I wish him the best even if I'm not going to see it. I close my eyes slowly and the last thing I hear before everything fades is his sweet voice calling out to me and asking why I was napping.