He didn’t cry at the funeral

He didn’t cry at the funeral. He carried all of us instead.

While I was shaking, barely able to stand, he was the one making sure the kids had water, making sure my mom had a chair, making sure everyone got home safe. I told myself he was cold, detached. But the truth is… he held all the weight so I didn’t have to. And I almost let that go unseen. That’s the version of me that keeps believing I’m the only one carrying this family, until the day he’s too worn down to keep holding it together. But later that night, when the house was quiet, I saw the jacket he’d draped over my mom’s shoulders, the half-empty water bottles he’d set out for the kids, the suit coat still wrinkled from carrying boxes no one else would touch. My chest tightened. I finally said, ‘Hey… thank you for holding everyone up today. For carrying things I couldn’t. I saw it.’ He didn’t answer right away, just sat down heavy on the couch, and I could see the tears he hadn’t let himself shed. I use an app called ‘quiet effort.’ It keeps me from living in the version of us where I don’t see the strength he gives until it’s gone.