Liv in a Life Well-Lived

It had been 8 years since my parents were welcomed back by the Creator. About half of those years were the darkest season of my soul, but then afterwards, it alarmed me how fast things have changed. The heart is a sentimental creature; years from now, you can still evoke the same emotions of grief, happiness or regret. However, the mind still controls everything you remember, as well as what you ought to feel as you look back. It's so easy to forget the little things now. That's why I try to make a mental exercise out of it and force my brain to remember: the mornings I woke up to smells of Spam frying, the music of Roger Whittaker blaring from the downstairs stereo, the hum of conversation as my parents discuss the affairs for the day. How my mother smells after a bath, her soft skin as she tucks my hair behind my ear, the color of her eyeglasses which aims to hide her partially blind eye. How she would sit at the foyer, facing my bedroom door, while she prays the rosary we

3 1/2 years ago, i gave this story to someone who I pegged is the happily-ever-after type. I still believe. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Peter Pan gave Wendy a thimble.As thimbles go, this one was wet and sloppy. And yet of all thimbles, Wendy was sure, Peter’s was the best. “That’s a thimble?” Wendy asked. “What is it for?” Peter Pan smiled sheepishly as he hovered over her bed. “Oh, you know, something you give another person to tell them you like them.” “So you like me?” Peter sighed and settled on a duvet beside her. “I did give you the thimble, didn’t I?” “Well.” Wendy replied. She reached over to her bedstand and picked up her stitching. “Well.” She said again. She seemed to be lost for words. Her fingers clumsily worked the needle and thread. “Well?” Peter flitted up, inched his face closer to Wendy. “What are you thinking?” “Nothing.” She said, too quickly. Peter was visibly miffed. “Nothing? But that’s the best kind of th