Remembering

I remember the way you chose different earrings every day – heart-shaped and sparkling. The rainbow ones were your favourites. I hope you were wearing them at the end.

I remember your delight in wordplay; how you each time we met you had a new pun or a truly terrible joke to share.

I remember that you spent that afternoon in the park; feeding the ducks; chasing pigeons in the sunshine

I remember that you beat your brother that evening; that you laughed with glee.

I remember the moment you turned at the door, spreading your palm open, revealing the treasures within. Sharing your last sweet with me – a sticky orange Opal Fruit, the paper sticking to my fingers. You wouldn’t let me “keep it for later”; you had to see me enjoying it.

I remember you made mince pies that year, still warm in their tins. We had to have one each – no sharing allowed. A small smile as crumbs fell into our hands.

You never leave me. I walk past jewellery displays and wonder if you would have chosen this pair or that. I hear new/old jokes and think that sounds like something you would have groaned at. I wonder if you giggled when you ran through the park or were you intent on chasing the birds? The sickly smell of orange sweets and I can see your hands

I may not always remember your name, or why you left. Not for every one of you. Some things fade with time. But I will remember the things that mattered to you. Each of you.