A/N: Something I wrote thinking of my father four years after he passed away. I don't have a Beta so expect grammatical errors...
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters etc. (You know the rest..)
What you dont know...
When you lose someone you always wonder what you did wrong. It doesn't matter if he got a job overseas, hit by a bus or Death just decided it was time. You blame yourself or dismiss the loss as something that was meant to happen due to nature's course or had something to do with the decisions the person made that lead him to be "taken" away from you.
As the years pass you come up with ridiculous questions like would he like a lamp or three in his coffe. Or did he prefer it black? Would he drum his fingers on the keyboard before a major story or just inhale deeply before writing another Kerth winning article. Was he a dog or a cat person and why.
The irony is that I knew all that. He drank it black just because my mother often stole his and couldn't bear to displease her in any way. He inhaled before writing a story in hope that he would catch my mother's perfume. He never stole a glance of her, but he would drum his knuckles under the desk every time after he finished before a deadline and she would know. He had a cat, but loved dogs. My mother was allergic to the second.
There will be questions that I will never have the chance to find answers for. They were hidden and the ones that weren't related to her were lost with his parents. Maybe its for the best, sometimes you must not dig deeper as you may trapped in private memories. Painful memories.
And then I wonder if I want to know. The only way is to ask. Am I really ready for that though? Someday...
I know I'm loved and for now that is enough.