Along he plodded, as he always did, but this did not look good. The road ahead looked simultaneously clear yet ugly, scary even. Never had he felt fear in the face of clarity in the past. So he stopped, giving himself a moment to think, analyse, as he was known to do.

And then he knew. The only option was forward, upwards along the ugly, scary road. He knew as well that the others could not accompany him for much longer but also that he had not the strength to go it alone.

Borrowing some time, he pretended to shuffle forward, hoping, praying for inspiration. But only worry came. Worry for his predicament but mostly for the others who were with him.

He did tell them to leave him, to return to their paths where their loved ones were and needed them, but as they often did, they ignored his instructions. He was secretly grateful but this secret selfishness caused him even more anguish.

Sooner than he had hoped for, he found himself at the top. The view was breathtaking. Looking backwards, the road no longer looked ugly and scary. He could see all of his journey at once from here. And what a beauty it was: long, winding, full of nuances.

But that was behind him. The only way forward was different. Although the downhill slope seemed gentle enough, the road much easier than what he had just climbed, it also seemed endless, lonely, hopelessly uninviting.

Just as he felt a new wave of fear begin to engulf him once again, he heard a gentle whisper. Straining to hear, as he always did, he heard it again. A voice, more than a whisper now, but gentle all the same. “I’ll help you,” it said. “I will hold your hand.”

Whose voice is that, he thought? It couldn’t be one of the others’. Although they were not far behind him, they were well outside his hearing range. Anyway, he could see them all talking at once, over each other, as was their tendency. And although full of love, gentle voices was a gift none of them possessed.

Maybe he was imagining, he thought. He shook himself back to reality, still trying to figure out what to do. He knew he couldn’t go back, he knew they couldn’t go forward with him and he knew he had not the strength nor courage to walk alone this time.

Then there it was again, this gentle voice. “I am here,” it said. “Right beside you.” And then he saw him, the manboy he had thought about so often. As he took in the boy’s beautiful face, he locked onto his eyes. The kindest eyes one could ever see were staring right back at him, eyes even kinder than his own. At once, his fear melted away. His dilemma was still there but without the fear he knew he could figure it out.

He could see all of his journey at once from here. And what a beauty it was: long, winding, full of nuances

He shook himself again, this time trying to silence his speechlessness which he felt was making him look uncharacteristically stupid. But the boy understood, it seemed. “Take your time,” he told him. “We have plenty.”

“We?” he asked. “Yes,” the boy replied. “I told you, I am here to help you, when you are ready. I will not leave you alone.”

He looked forward again and somehow the picture had changed. No longer did it look hopeless. Instead, it could not have been more inviting. In his panic earlier, he had missed all the details: the luscious greenery, the sparkling blue waters, the rising super moon, the most amazing sunset ever seen, all there at once, before him.

The way forward no longer scared him now. After all he had the boy’s kind eyes to help him see clearly, his gentle voice for company and his steady hand for support. Still there were the others. “I cannot leave them,” he told the boy. “They need me. They want me to stay.”

“You speak with such certainty. But are you sure?” said the boy, smiling.

“I know them well,” he asserted. “And I had told them to leave me a while back, but they have followed. They refuse to leave and that must be because they need me.”

“Worry not,” said the boy. “There is no rush, take your time. I will be here.”

He looked at them again, still close by, still talking over each other. And then he realised that maybe, once again, he had been missing the details. Is that laughter that he could hear? They did seem serene in their tight circle, although he could see that they never let him out of their gaze for too long. And as he leaned dizzily against the boy for some support for his tired body, he once again found clarity.

They were not there because they needed him, but because he needed them. They had not been following him but they had pulled him along, pushed him forward, nourished him, kept his senses interested, soothed him and even carried him over the most difficult hurdles so he could make it all the way to the top. Without them he might have given up. As he replayed all the recent conversations, he heard their words properly.

They had never said they needed him. Yes, they wished they could have him for longer, but they had repeatedly thanked him for all the tools and the lessons he had given them on the beautiful journey they had travelled with him. He realised they would be fine, look how tight their circle was.

They had each other and a few more circles around them. And she, the one he worried for most, had them. She was there right in the centre, as she had always been, the centre of his world. “And they will always have you,” whispered the gentle child.

And finally he smiled. He found his clarity and lost his fear. “I am ready,” he told the boy. And with that the boy grabbed his arm, gently guiding him forward, while he, with his hand, waved quietly to them as he watched them, talking and smiling, barely noticing his last goodbye as he turned confidently towards his eternal spring.

For Papà, much love, all.

Lara Milton is Lino Spiteri’s daughter.