A memory of my father crossed the screen of my mind this morning.

This old apartment he used to stay in. We’d come over on the weekends – in this memory I’m maybe 7 or 8 years old.

(His presence becomes strong each time I take a huge leap in my life – I suppose at a subconscious level, I wish he was here to see me grow.)

Anyway, in the memory, my sister and I are in a room that we used to share with my little brother.

There is a dancing mouse that sings “every body loves kung fu fighting” in the background.

A twin size bed, a crib, and a bathroom.

I search for my fathers face in this memory. He is in the other room – getting ready to make breakfast (he didn’t eat meat either; at the time I’d curl my face up to his fake meats… now I eat them too.)

I sit in this memory now thinking with a light and heavy heart – “if only I had known that I would loose you so soon, I would have paid more attention.

To your personality. To your the way that you walked and talked. I would have listened to your voice more so that your memory would be more complete, now.”

This may seem like I somber status but I cry sometimes when thinking about my mom and my family that’s still alive.

I love them and I am grateful. Death has taught me to value the moments and the people.

While you can.

So it’s sad but it’s not. Destruction is a part of life. But only a part of it. There is so much love too.

And even after ‘destruction’, love remains.

(My fathers body is gone. But his presence, the core of love that we all house within us, is very much alive – and one of my protectors. Destruction is not the end.)