Remembering Dad

The nurse met mom and me at the elevator. Mom wept quietly. She sensed that he was gone. We entered his room in quiet reverence. My three sisters were gathered around dad’s hospital bed. They glanced up to greet us with tears of disbelief.

The tubes were disconnected. The port for his IV was removed. The monitor that mirrored his heartbeat was stilled. We wept. We wept for how much we would miss him.

Today is the twelfth anniversary of dad’s passing. You would think that each year gets easier with distance and time, but it doesn’t.

“I’ve got to call him about this exciting Yankee game.” I catch myself.

“Hsiao-Yen is now eighteen, and very creative.” I catch myself.

“Mom has passed away. We took care of her as you had wanted.” I catch myself.

“I iron the laundry like you used to.” I catch myself.

“You now have four new granddaughters. They have started school.” I catch myself.

“Veronique has graduated from college is making a movie in NYC.” I catch myself.

“Mei-An loves to sing.” I catch myself.

“I kept the bottle of your Tres Flores. Once in a while I open it up and inhale. It smells like your hair.” I catch myself.

Sometimes, I catch myself…