"You probably don't remember him, but-"
My chest tightens every time
I remember him
I remember him wholly and completely
I remember his prickly, trimmed salt & pepper beard
I remember his goofy laughter
I remember the way his eyes would crinkle behind his glasses whenever he smiled
I remember the "chicken" in his ears
I remember the lectures he'd get for turning off his "chicken" because he needed them to hear
I remember the peaches we'd eat in their old apartment
I remember the mandarin orange cups he gave to me in the hospital
I remember the shame for being excited to eat those mandarin oranges
I remember sitting outside of the hospital room
I remember his red baseball cap holding a permanent spot in the back seat of Grandma's car
I remember hanging on to every word of every story about him
I remember some stories being blurrier than others
I remember playing baseball in his honor, but never telling anyone
I remember hearing you complain about him cooking too much spam
I remember the light in Grandma's eyes when she talked about him
I remember looking at pictures of him and trying so hard to memorize every detail
I remember realizing I had dark, curly hair because of him
I remember begging you to let me get a tattoo for him at 17
I remember every detail you forgot that Grandma swears he said
I remember wishing he wasn't the grandfather I lost
I remember the guilt of wishing that
I remember every time you have told me I don't remember him
I don't remember the life you had with him
I don't remember the smell of smoke on his clothes
I don't remember being moved around every few years
I don't remember eating that fried spam
I don't remember watching him struggle to speak German in Germany
I don't remember him lying on the ground to rest any chance he could
I don't remember what he said at your wedding
I don't remember his fatherly advice
I don't remember spending years with him
I barely remember my breakfast, but I remember my Pop-Pop