Dedig, I regret

I look at your face trying to find a glimpse of the person I knew so I could tell you these words…

A few months ago I decided to write about you – to write about your stories.

The stories you used to tell me on slow and quiet afternoons,
the stories you used to tell me as we’d walk down the streets and you would reminisce,
the stories you told me about the time you met her,
the stories that made you you,
the stories that made me cherish those moments we had.

As I sat down to write those stories, I realized my memory has failed me. I don’t remember those stories as vividly as they were told by you.

I sat down next to you, I walked with you, I went fishing with you, and I intensely focused and listened to your stories.
I wanted them carved in my memory so I could share them with the younger ones and so that one day I can tell my kids about my dedig.

I don’t remember the stories as vividly as I would like to, but I cannot forget your face as you told them, I cannot forget your eyes when they lit up, and that cheeky smile you sometimes had…

I often wished I had known you when you were younger.  I would have loved to have gotten to know who you really were, before you became that man who’d spend his afternoons playing solitaire and filling up crossword puzzles.

The times we spent together were not much but they profoundly influenced me and I now wish we had more time.

For the first time in my life I find myself regretting. Regretting that I relied on my memory when I should have recorded those stories so that they could live on.

I miss sitting quietly next to you, munching on popcorn and drinking frozen 7up, while watching the news.

I miss you.

I look at your face trying to find a glimpse of the person I knew so I could tell you these words…

Dedig

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