He always hoped his father was, at least, happy. Wherever he was.
Iori H/Cody & Hiroki H
He had been young when his father passed. So it was always his grandfather who lit the incense and said the prayers. Beside him, slightly behind, the young boy would also pray, for his father's happiness…wherever his spirit was now.
At the end of the summer, the family went to the river: his mother, his grandfather and himself, and they sent out a small boat with a single candle within, to guide those spirits wandering lost. He wondered if his father was one of them. He hoped he was happy either way.
The years that passed went relatively the same. At times, they would visit the grave where the cremated bones lay buried, clean up the stone a little and talk about relatively mundane affairs as though he was still with them….or watching them. And in the end, he would always wish for his father's happiness, telling only the stories that were known (or assumed) to make a smile spread on his face.
A new wick would be lit aside the cinders of the old, and as he grew older, he came by himself to do so. The cycle remained perpetually unchanging, but that was good for the most part. They mourned, they accepted, they lived on with him in their hearts.
Then one day, he brought more. Eleven humans, twelve digimon…the best friends he had ever had and the symbol of his father's and his best friend's dream a reality. Two more wicks were lit, for those whose dream had finally been achieved and united, and then they all took a seat in the silence as they all payed their respects to the two men and prayed for their happiness.
Him most of all.