Do you remember when I was ten years old? I hopped over the bushes dividing our yards with bright eyes and a crooked smile. I opened your gate and wandered through the endless and ever-consuming flower bushes, making my way over to your front steps. Jemima Puddle Duck greeted me in a bright, newly-knitted bonnet, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at the plastic figurine you always put so much effort into. I knocked on your door in my usual melodic pattern and you must have known it was me because when you opened the door, you already had a smile on your face and open arms beckoning my embrace. I crossed the threshold and the warm scent of fresh linens filled my lungs. We made our way to your kitchen where you already had a bowl of candies sitting out for me to pick on. Milk chocolate; my favorite. 

We were frozen in time, lost in a memory we were unconscious of making. Bougainvillea flooded your garden and the delicate petals seemed to resemble vibrant magenta tissue paper. Under the blanket of the California sun, we admired the beauty of nature and soaked up our time together, naively convinced that there would be a tomorrow to enjoy. But when I look back, I wonder whether that was naivety or pure innocence that kept us locked in the light. As graceful as a falling feather, a monarch gentilly fluttered over our heads and with your magic touch, you reached up your hand allowing the butterfly to perch on your pruned finger. The wonder such a creature embodied. It’s very existence reliant on change. Isn’t it ironic now that all we’d ever do is change since that summer day? 

Do you remember the day I left? The day we cried and mom brought over a painting with our footprints on it. She had written on it that “many people walk in and out of your life, but true friends will leave footprints in your heart.” You immediately hung it up in your kitchen for everyone to see. It was a piece of us we would leave behind for you to always remember us. These days it sits under our roof, serving as a constant reminder of your absence. 

I remember the day I found out. I remember the look in my mom’s eyes when she told me. I remember the tears streaming down her face and the look of hopelessness she wore. It didn’t feel real. It still doesn’t. 

I try to remember the last time I saw you, the last words exchanged, the final glance; but my mind fails me and I forget. It’s carried me so far and left me with so little. We couldn’t have known it would be our last goodbye, but I wonder if things would have been different if we did. Often times, I imagine what I’d say to you if I could go back in time and just see you one last time. I wonder if I’d talk about the flowers in your garden or the monarch above our heads. I wonder if my mind would race to the painting we gave you or candies in your kitchen, but something stops me in my tracks. I can’t help but hold on to the same three words. I wish I could have told you when I had the chance, the joy that you brought me with each and every glance. Though they may be simple and even overused, it’s never a regretful reminder saying, I love you.