He'd been thinking about what he needed all day, and now that he finally had Mr. Schue's permission to express the turmoil of emotions and pains swirling through him, he needed to get his story out before his tears started leaking from his eyes. Again. He took a deep breath.

"On the day of my mom's funeral, when they were lowering her body into the ground, I was crying." He found a spot on the floor and stared at it, not wanting to make any eye contact with anyone in the room, not wanting to see the pity or sadness or sympathy—whatever they were feeling—written on their faces. He knew they couldn't help it, but he hated it. "I mean, that was it. It was the last time I was ever going to see her. I remember I looked up at my dad, and I…"

The memories began to play in his head. He could feel the gentle wind on his face, the bright beams of the sun against his cheeks and hair. He could feel the tears stinging his eyes, the snot running down his face as he looked up from the ground toward his dad. Somewhere, there had been birds chirping, and he'd wanted them to stop sounding so happy, yet he hadn't said anything. He'd just waited. His breath came out shakily. "I just wanted him to say something, just something to make me feel like my whole world wasn't over. And he just took my hand and squeezed it."

He could feel it, the warmth of his dad's hand in his own, squeezing tightly, reassuringly, saying silently that he was still there, that he wasn't going anywhere. Not yet. "I just… Knowing that those hands were there to take care of me… That was enough. This is for my dad."

"Yeah, I'll tell you something

I think you'll understand"

Slowly, Kurt lifted his eyes from the spot they'd been studying on the floor to a place on the wall behind the rest of the Glee club as the memories began again like movies.

"When I say that something

I wanna hold your hand

I wanna hold your hand

I wanna hold your hand"

A million pictures of him holding his dad's hand flashed through his head. Grocery store trips. On the way to the playground. On my first day of school after Mom died. At the fair so I wouldn't get lost. Then a more complex memory began to play in his head.

"Oh, please, say to me

You'll let me be your man

And please, say to me

You'll let me hold your hand

Now let me hold your hand

I wanna hold your hand"

I was so scared to ride a bike without training wheels. Dad held my hand all the way out to the garage because he knew that if he'd didn't, I'd bolt back inside and hide under his and Mom's bed. I watched him take off those training wheels, never letting go of the shoulder of his shirt. God, I probably stretched out the material so badly, but I didn't care. I was terrified. And then he opened the garage door and wheeled it outside while I held onto his belt loop. I tried to convince him that I didn't need to learn to ride a bike, yet he insisted that I would have fun. "I know you can do it, kid," he said. So, I made him promise to hold onto me, and then I got on. He held on for a while, and eventually, he let go. I didn't even know until he clapped. And then I freaked out and fell over, and I was sure he was going to be so disappointed in me. I hadn't learned to ride a bike, even though he'd told me he knew I could do it. I expected him to look disappointed, and instead, when he came over, he just held out his hand to help me up. "That was great! Let's do it again. I'm sure you'll do even better now."

Another detailed memory popped into his head.

"And when I touch you I feel happy, inside

It's such a feeling

That my love

I can't hide

I can't hide

I can't hide"

We had an outdoor tea party for my birthday that year after Mom died. I didn't want to have any friends over because I was afraid that it might remind me too much of Mom. She always did throw such elaborate birthday parties for me, just like I loved. I convinced Dad that I should just make some tiny cakes and we could have tea, and he agreed right away. We spent all day the day before in the kitchen, making cakes and cookies and decorating them. And then, that morning, he made the tea on the stove, like Mom always had, right after breakfast. I taught him how to drink tea the right way: pinky out. He didn't get it at first. I explained that tea is dainty, though, and sticking his pinky out made him daintier. I don't think he understood it really, yet he went along with it anyway, even putting on his best British accent, which wasn't very good. I loved it, though. It reminded me of Mom and watching British TV shows together, and he knew I needed that.

And then, perhaps the most difficult memory of all popped up as Kurt gathered himself to finish the song.

"Yeah, you got that something

I wanna hold your hand

I wanna hold your hand

I wanna hold your ha-a-a-a-a-a-and"

I didn't want to visit Mom's grave that first year after her death. It was too hard, and I spent all morning before we went crying. Then, I asked Dad if we could dress up like we had for her funeral, and he agreed that Mom would like that. The entire time we were walking from the car to her grave, I was trailing behind him. I was looking at all those other stones, imagining how other people must feel coming there to visit, and I thought I was going to cry. Dad just turned around and offered me his hand, and we went together, both of us holding back tears until we found her stone. It was probably one of the hardest days we had together after she died. I think it was the most healing cry at her grave either of us ever had. We both felt like she was there, hugging us.

Mom, if you're out there somewhere, can you bring Dad back to me? I need him still, more than most people could ever understand, and I'm not ready to lose him, too. Can you please make sure he comes back to me?

There were tears streaming down his face that he quickly wiped away as the song ended, and he blinked a few times, bringing himself back from his memories to the Glee classroom. He caught a glimpse of his fellow Glee members out of the corner of his eye, their faces tear-stained and their eyes filled with something that he felt resembled pity, and he realized he didn't want to be there anymore. He knew his friends would want to hug him, tell him how sorry they were that he was going through something so hard. He wasn't sure he could handle that, though. So, he turned and walked out the door, and no one said a word to him as he went.

I don't want to be here. I need to be with Dad. I need to hold his hand again.