Their embrace is the sweetest one I’ve ever seen. Chris wraps his mother up in his arms, curving his broad, shaking shoulders over her petite frame, burying his face in her hair while she sobs into his chest. Before I know it, I’m crying too, weeping into my hands because the last time I heard Chris cry like this was when Margaret died. That the tears he’s shedding now are ones of happiness and not sorrow fills me with a kind of peace I can’t explain. I sit in it with them, a part of the moment but not, and when they finally let go of each other, their eyes are red but laced with joy.
