Grief in a coffee cup

It’s so strange how grief can just drop itself on you out of no where.

Earlier today, the kids ran upstairs with a travel coffee cup that I don’t remember seeing. We all couldn’t figure out where it came from. It was new with tags but the store it was from was a store I hadn’t been inside for ever – 5 to ten years at least. I figured maybe it was an old gift to me from someone. Then just now I went downstairs and I found the wrapping paper that had been around the mug. It wad a gift from us, to my dad. My stomach dropped. I don’t remember the cup at all. But if it was for my dad, that means that I bought it for him in 2005, for the first of the remainder of Christmases for the for the rest of my life that my dad would not attend.

How did it get here to this house? I don’t recall seeing it when I packed up to move from our old home. Yet, there it was. It’s shocking when something happens between you and someone after death. I wish my dad would have made the choice to come that year. Now, it’s too late to give him the cup. I guess I’ll keep it.

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