He used to run up to me and clamp his little arms around the top of my leg. Squeeze my neck on his birthdays, at Christmas. Grapple me before I left after his bedtime stories.
As the years passed, our embraces only emerged in times of great celebration or in the bleak consequence of a close death. In them I would cling to him, selfishly rejoicing. Seizing our moment together.
Today, I will wrap my arms around him one final time, before they close the box, before I watch him depart from me, into the mouth of the cold December soil.