I found myself talking about butterflies during my father's final moments, a reflection of his once-shared passion, now a poignant farewell as I sought connection.
In those last moments, I spoke of the small tortoiseshell butterfly I had seen, mingling grief with remembrance, revealing how my father's interests had finally taken root in me.
Until my father's diagnosis, I'd dismissed his passion for the natural world; regret now flooded me as I recognized the depth of our shared connection in his final days.
A transformation took place in my understanding and appreciation of my father's love for butterflies, a bond rekindled as I held his hand, embracing both life and loss.
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