This morning while loading the dishwasher I dropped my dad's favorite coffee mug, which has also been MY favorite coffee mug the last 8 years since he passed.
A moment of silence, please, for my fallen brethren. I went ballistic when I heard the crunch. Dad and I weren't always close, but this coffee mug had good memories. Saturday mornings watching cartoons together, him sneaking me the last cold dregs when mom thought coffee was an inappropriate drink for a growing young lady, playfully arguing over whether my need for a huge cup of milk or hot chocolate was greater than his need of caffeine when I was a pre-teen, then post-divorce visits, few and far between, and telling him I would take that mug someday, his sneering "Over my dead body" and my cheerful agreement as a teen. Who knew he was psychic? I remember laughing like a jackal when I was cleaning his apartment and stumbled on it, in the sink, rinsed but not totally, still smelling like Maxwell House.
Cheers, dad, guess it's you're turn to cackle. Don't you worry, old man. I'll come find it again someday.
