I opened the letter confirming my citizenship beside my father’s photograph

Dear Delyara, I arrived as a refugee twenty-one years ago with my father. He never became a citizen. He struggled with the language, worked whatever jobs he could find, and died before my application was complete. Today, the letter confirming my citizenship arrived. I opened it at the kitchen table beside his photograph. I expected uncomplicated happiness. Instead, I cried because the document has only my name. Dad spent years building the life that made this possible, yet he remained legally temporary until the end. I called my mother and read the letter to her. She said, “Your father would tell everyone he did it himself.” That made me laugh. I will attend the ceremony next month with my children. Goals reached after someone dies are strange. You arrive where both of you were walking and discover the finish line has enough space for only the living body that made it there.