Today, while looking for a pack of dental floss, I found my father’s removable bridge in the back of a drawer.
He doesn’t need it, not where he is now, under a stone at the cemetery.
But the sight of the blue plastic container and its contents filled me with mirth. Of all of his possessions, why did I cling to this?
Should I hide it for a future laugh?
Or accept that this moment is enough, and say goodbye?