The stories are all true of course. The kittens he saved from the top of a burning office building. The dog he rescued from the blazing heat of the desert. The death-defying leaps he'd make while rock climbing sheer cliffs just for the fun of it -- just because he could. The way he rocked his babies and softly sang the alphabet because he didn't know any lullabies. The countless ways he helped others, the people who asked him for help because they knew he could -- because they knew he would.
He was a hero, yes. He was also a man. A man with flaws and terrorizing demons he couldn't seem to ever shake despite his superhuman strength.
Life is hard. Mistakes happen. We are all human. One day, my children are going to know this as deep in their bones as I do. I will not be telling tarnishing tragedies and melodramas. They're true too, yes, but have faded into the background where they always belonged.
My children have the gift of a hero. A guardian angel who watches over them. He will always remain young. He will always be strong. He will never stop caring.
Their hero forever. His best self. Their father.