Becoming

by Michelle Obama

I let his voice be my comfort. It bore no trace of pain or self-pity, carrying only good humor and softness and just the tiniest hint of jazz. I lived on it as if it were oxygen. It was sustaining, and it was always enough.

Your father’s final lesson will come far too soon. He’ll teach you that life is fleeting. So laugh with him until your side hurts. Savor the grip of his hugs, the softness in his eyes. A day will come when those memories are all you’ll have.