Echoes Through Kenzo

Tonight, I showed Kenzo the image I’d created of him and Polar Beary online - curled up under the cherry blossoms, dreaming of a faraway star. It felt like a quiet tribute, something tender for just the two of us to hold.

He stared at it for a while, really looking. Then he turned to me and asked softly,

“Can you post it on Facebook?”

I blinked, surprised.
“Why Facebook?” I asked. “And how do you even know about Facebook?”

Without missing a beat, he said,

“I saw you scrolling on it. Please post it on Facebook so your friends can remember Dad in their hearts too.”

And in that moment, my heart caught in my chest. My eyes stung with tears I didn’t expect.

Kenzo isn’t just missing his dad. He’s thinking about him. Remembering him not just as his father, but as someone who mattered to others too. Someone whose absence might quietly echo in the lives of people we barely talk about, or hear from.

What made this moment even more meaningful was the cherry blossoms in the image - they weren’t just there for beauty. They were our flower. Mine and Vic’s. Cherry blossoms have always marked new beginnings for us.
We met in spring.
We married in spring.
And Kenzo was born in spring.

Every petal, to me, feels like a quiet memory of where we started and what we built - even through the hard years.

Kenzo is only six… but he already understands something it takes many of us years to grasp:
That love doesn’t disappear. That grief isn’t always loud. That remembrance can be shared - even gently, even silently - and still mean everything.

And tonight, it was my little boy who reminded me of that.
With just one soft question, he carried Vic’s memory further than I could have alone.
He turned a picture into a ripple.

And it landed straight in my heart.

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