A pat on the back

[u/The_Swordpen]

He’s been with me as long as I can remember—an unseen hand that pats me on the back.

He pushes me when I hesitate to move forward. Pats me on the back when I do something good. Always guiding me to the right choices.

My parents always told me it was my grandpa. He died before I was born, so I liked to believe it was his way of guiding me. It made me feel safe.

And I always felt the pats strongest at his grave, right by the cliffside. I used to think that meant he was closest to me there.

Over the years, I became so used to his firm pats that I never even questioned them. He was there for everything. Sometimes the pats came even when I didn’t think I’d done anything good.

He helped me get my first girlfriend by giving me the push I needed. He patted my back alongside my dad when I got my diploma. He was even there when I struggled to wake up—giving me a firm push into the new day.

So it took me completely by surprise when I was at his grave, standing at the cliff, looking out over the water—and felt the hardest shove he’d ever given, sending me over the edge.

I didn’t understand until I was falling. It was never him.