And a decade disappears, just like that.
We're still going to your house for Easter and you'll still make me as many tacos as the age I'm turning this year for my birthday… right? No, but also yes.
"What's remembered lives" and I've found pieces of you living with me everywhere- from Phoenix, to Los Angeles, to Santa Cruz. In stretches of desert, bites of food, and snippets of conversations.
I swear I heard you whistle when the door opened the other day, and sometimes when I go for a walk, I'm holding your hand like our daily walks every summer. My rings are all silver and I only have two bracelets, but I wear rings on almost every finger, just like you, and when I move just right I swear I hear your bracelets clinking together instead.
I'll go to Easter at mom and dad's from now on and I'll make 26 tacos this year on my birthday. I'll try to find more rings and more bracelets. What's remembered lives.