Grief is all about the little things that catch you completely off guard and hit you like a punch, leaving you breathless. How could I possibly cry just by looking at a bottle of Advil? It happened more often than I wish it did. So, here is the story about that:

This topic has not come up here yet, but my parents live, actually now just my mom actually LIVES, in another country. As regular immigrants from a third-world country, every time they travel back, they have to bring a packed suitcase with all sorts of gifts and things that are easier to find in places like the US. This specific time, my uncle was supposed to travel and on the day of his trip I called my father and told him I really needed my uncle to bring me a bottle of Advil. They are cheap in the US and the bottle lasts me well over a year. My dad, of course, complained that there wasn’t any time, that I should have asked him before-all the dad complains-but I knew, I knew he would go out of his way to leave his job, go to the pharmacy, buy the Advil and take the bottle to my uncle’s house so he could put it in the suitcase at the last minute. He had many flaws, but there was very little that I asked my dad that he did not go out of his way to get done. He got it done. I loved this about him.
So, here I am almost a year and a half after his death, looking at my almost empty Advil bottle and just crying like a little kid everytime I see that I am running out. I don’t want to run out of the memories of him.