Status Updates From De kraanvogels vliegen naar...

"You know I'm proud of you," I eventually manage to whisper.
"And your mum is, too."
Hans gazes at me with a look Id forgotten, the same look he used to give me as a boy. When his eyes lit up at everything I said, letting me know that we were a team.
He blinks.
He then leans forward and kisses me on the forehead.
"I know, Dad."

His hair looks the way it did when he was a boy. I feel an urge to ruffle it, but don't have the energy to lift my arm.
I realize now that I never really knew my old man, not the way I know Hans. Despite all our squabbles, we belong together in a way my father and I never did. I look up at Hans and don't want him to feel like something inside him has broken once I'm gone. Don't want it to eat away at him for decades.

Someone knocks on the door, and I hope it's Hans. I want him here, to look him in the eye and say that I want only the best for him. That, despite my stubbornness, I'm proud of him. I just want him to know.
It's something I've been thinking about since we met that Eskil bloke at Ture's funeral, that I don't want to leave anything unsaid.
That I don't want it to be like it was with my old man.

I dont know why, but I don't want anyone to see my tears.
Right then, I feel a weight on my right thigh. Through blurry eyes, I see Hans's hand on my leg. Resting there the way my hand used to rest on his shoulder after we'd spent a little too long out fishing in clothes that weren't quite warm enough. I'm struck by how alike they are, our hands. How old his hand looks.
I put mine on top of his.