There are so many comforting memories to mention when it comes to you.
But the one that came to mind immediately was an almost nightly ritual when I was a little girl.
I’d come into your bedroom to bother you about this and that. We’d watch whatever ball game that you already had on, or my favorite wrestler on WWE if I was lucky.
Eventually, as little eyelids do, mine began to droop more and more as I talked less and less. Before I knew it, there were gaps in time on what was happening on the television screen as I nodded off. I was falling asleep no matter how hard I tried not to.
So you would quietly get out of bed and gently scoop me up in your arms. My head would loll and I would defiantly protest that “I’m awake!” as you carried me down the hallway to my own bedroom. But you’d only chuckle softly and squeeze me a little tighter to your chest.
As you laid me down in the safety of my own bed, I remember the comforting sensation of your warm embrace staying with me long enough for me to drift fully into sleep as your footsteps receded back down the hallway.
I find myself standing in that same hallway often now.
I stare at that same closed bedroom door that used to be open, beckoning me with the blue light of the television and the sound of your voice.
I miss you. I miss her.
I try to stand there long enough to perhaps get a glimpse of them or a sensation of them passing by in what feels like another lifetime now.
I don’t know why.
Maybe to reach out and touch them, or to beg them not to go.
I do find some comfort in that memory. I try to focus on it as hard as I can.
But mostly, I just end up standing there alone.
