Apotheosis

It comes all at once, but it's not like it's ever been before.

Unlike every other time, it's as though he really is just remembering something he already knew. At the same time it feels like a gift. Like the last gift. He can almost see his own face, hear his own voice. He can feel the words.

You're ready for this now.

So he watches it unfold, briefly blinded by a sunrise from another world.

He puts the girls to bed, kisses their foreheads before he turns out the light. They must sense that something is different, because they're quieter than usual and they don't put up any fight. He tangles his fingers in their cornsilk curls and remembers.

He's still not that man. But everything that man had is his now.

Almost everything.

Without really tracking his progress from one place to the other, he drifts back into the world to find himself on the couch, hands clasped between his knees. His cheeks are wet, though he doesn't remember crying. It feels like something is over. Maybe later it'll feel like something else is beginning.

It takes a few more moments to understand that he's mourning himself. That he has to.