It's The Little Things

One would think that after a loved one has died, you would remember him for all the big and important events. It's not the case, well, at least for me.

I barely remember our dance on my wedding day. But I do remember how we almost laughed our eyeballs out over something very petty, I wouldn't dare write about it here; it'll be out of context and I don't want to risk sounding shallow. Or how, when I was a little kid, he showed me an imprint made on a piece of clay. He made me guess which object made that distinct imprint (it was from the design engraved on his wedding band).

One time, at home after his chemotherapy, we both couldn't fall asleep. In the middle of the night, he and I drove out for some balut, using his need to buy some medications from a 24-hour drugstore as an excuse. We greedily wolfed down our balut (3 for him, 2 for me).

It's the little things I miss the most. I miss you, Daddy.