He’s gone… but I walked the stage in his old work boots. I’m just so grateful. via /r/gratitude

Last week, I graduated college, the first in my entire family to do it.

But my dad wasn’t there to see it. He passed away during my freshman year. No warning. No goodbye.

My father was a working-class man through and through. He wore the same pair of steel-toe boots to work for over a decade, pulled double shifts, skipped birthdays, and never once complained. All so that I could have a different kind of future.

“Get that degree, son,” he used to tell me. “Make it count.”

The night before graduation, I found those old boots buried in my closet. Scuffed. Worn through. Still faintly smelling like oil and garage dust. I held them for a while, and cried. Then I made a choice.

I wore them under my cap and gown.

Size 11s on my size 9 feet. They didn’t match anything. They didn’t need to.

Walking across that stage, I felt like every step carried not just my effort, but his. His sacrifices. His love. His belief in me, even when I didn’t see it in myself.

When I hugged my mom after the ceremony, she saw the boots peeking out and just… melted. We both did. No words. Just tears and so much emotion.

I’m overwhelmed with gratitude. For the love he gave me. For the example he set. For the chance to live the dream he never had the chance to chase.

I hope he knows. I hope he felt it.

Thank you, Dad. I walked because of you. And with you.