Summary: Your four year old son Ronan passed away from cancer, so you wrote a song for him.
(Based off of Taylor's song Ronan. I do not own the song)
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You sobbed as you sat in a chair next to your fiancée Taylor at the funeral home.
Today was the day of your little boy's funeral. He had been battling cancer pretty much his whole life, and you were dreading this day to come. You hoped it didn't, but the doctors had told you it was terminal.
Taylor cried as well as she hugged you close. Ronan wasn't her biological child. You had Ronan a year before you met Taylor, but she loved him like he was her own.
She handed you a tissue as you kept your eyes on the small casket in the front of the room.
"I don't want to cremate him," you told the mortician. "He's afraid of fire."
It took you a while to use his name in past-tense. It hurt you too much to say 'he was' instead of 'he is'. You didn't want to accept that your boy wasn't with you any longer.
You picked up Taylor's hand in your own and started playing with her fingers.
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A while later, after the ceremony, you got up from your chair and went to go get your guitar that you brought before walking up to the front of the room next to the casket.
You admired the flowers around the casket, sadly smiling when your eyes landed on the daffodils behind the casket in the largest vase. Those are -- were -- his favorite.
"Mommy!" Ronan called as he ran through the front door to find you. Taylor smiled as she walked in after him and watched him run off.
You picked up your head from your book to see Ronan running to you with a bouquet of white, pink, and yellow daffodils in hand.
"Hey, bud!" You greet, looking up to see Taylor walking over to you and sitting down next to you.
"Me and Mama went to the flower shop today!" He told you excitedly and held up the flowers for you to see.
"You did?" You ask, picking him up and sitting him in your lap.
"Yeah! I got these ones for you," he told you, handing you the bouquet of flowers.
"Oh, they're beautiful!" You tell him with a smile, bringing them to your nose to smell them. "I love them!"
"They're my favorite," he told you. "They're pretty."
"Thank you, bud," you tell him with a smile.
You sigh heavily as you sit down on a stool set up next to the casket.
"Excuse me?" You say, gathering the guests attention as they were quietly conversing among themselves. You let out another small sigh. "So, as you know, I'm a songwriter, and I've always loved writing songs for my little boy."
You look over to the casket and wipe a few tears before continuing. "So, I decided that I would write one last song for him, and I wanted to share it with all of you."
You sniffled a little before positioning your fingers on your guitar and begin to play the notes to the song.
It was silent in the room besides your singing and guitar.
I remember your bare
feet down the hallway
I remember your
little laugh
Race cars on the
kitchen floor, plastic
dinosaurs
I love you to the moon
and back
