Gemotions

The microphone felt like a lead weight in Elias's hand. He stared out at the sea of faces, his father's beaming, expectant face the most difficult to meet. He swallowed, the lump in his throat making speech nearly impossible. He should be happy, joyous even. This was a milestone, a culmination of decades of hard work. Instead, a dull ache throbbed behind his eyes.

He cleared his throat, the sound unusually loud in the silent room. "Dad," he began, his voice rougher than he intended. He'd been meaning to call, to visit, to simply *be* there more often. The calls, the visits, the opportunities, had all slipped through his fingers, lost to work, to convenience, to a thousand petty excuses.

His gaze flickered over to his mother, her hand clasped tightly in her husband's. He wondered if she knew. Did she see the gulf that yawned between them, the unspoken words, the missed moments? He was a stranger in his own family now. He couldn't shake the heavy feeling of everything he'd lost.