I remember giant gin and tonics. I remember sunshine and barbecues. I remember playing the organ and a mini electric piano. I remember playing shops and banks and making a mess in the sink, smiling, covered in water. The sofas in the basement, running between the gardens, a glass carafe, red wine.
I remember lingering cigar smoke, comforting and homely. I remember belly laughs and summertimes. I remember beaches, holidays, by the sea, watching the lights reflecting on the inky blackness of the water, lapping gently up the cool sands.
I remember running and hugging after an illness, me half his height, so pleased to see him. I remember writing and cards and that old, distinguished script, birthdays and christmas. I remember orange plastic sledges and chocolates from Switzerland. I remember stories, tall tales, cheating at every board game, whisky and political debates, the hottest curries and the largest measures. I remember respectability and kindness.
There are no more memories to make. Mourners gather, tissues, smiles through tears. A life well lived. A loss felt, deeply, shattering our souls. We toast to him and feel the gaping hole in our hearts.
I stare at the mist, the grey. I wipe away tears. I remember him. I remember him. I raise a glass in my mind and set out to live a life as good as his. I remember him.