What You Remember Ends Up Mattering the Most

It seems like another lifetime, but I remember this one particular night when I felt sick like I was going to barf. And then die. I thought exactly that.

For some reason, I sat on the sofa all night. I hardly moved. I kept the channel on CSI: Miami, like an ass! (That show sucks so bad and every time I even think about Miami, I want to throw up.)

My dad woke up to go to work at about 6 am. He found me sitting there in the living room and he said to me, “Have you been awake all night?” Yes. “Did you feel sick again?” Yes. “Have you eaten anything?” No.

I never remembered to eat when I felt sick. He made me toast with strawberry jam. And I did feel better.

This is what I remember when I think about how wonderful my dad was.

He wasn’t overly talkative or excessively physically affectionate, but if I went up to him and said, “I need a hug,” he would wrap his arms around me and hug me for as long as I wanted.

This is what I remember when I am really missing him and wish he was still here.