I was up in the attic with my 14-year-old daughter Tiffany, trying to do a little spring cleaning. "Dad." I looked over to her.
"Yeah?" I said.
"What's this?" She handed me a small black velvet box. I opened it and it instantly killed me.
"Tiff, please put that back." I said, shutting the box and handing it to her.
"Dad. What is it?" She asked.
"It was your mom's okay.?" I said calmly.
"Dad ..." She sat next to me on her knees. "Why don't you ever talk about Mom anymore?" I sighed and looked down at the floor. I really didn't want to talk about her.
"It hurts too much to talk about her." I said.
"Did you and Mom really love each other?" She asked. A small smile spread on my face.
"More than you will ever know." She smiled.
"How come I don't remember her?" She asked.
"You were little when she passed away, Tiff. Too little to understand anything." She nodded.
"What was she like?" I sighed.
"It's almost midnight. You need to go to bed. How about we talk about this tomorrow?" I asked. She nodded and went down the stairs.
I stayed upstairs for a while. I found an old chest that was covered in a little dust. I unlocked it and threw open the lid. The dust that flew off of it made me sneeze and cough for a minute. Once I was done, I looked inside. The first thing on the top was a picture of Jennifer and I on our first date. I laughed when I saw it. It brought back some great memories.
