I REMEMBER YOU

Last night, I saw you in my dream… and it felt so real. You were talking to me, even scolding me for wanting to go out in the cold—exactly like you used to. For a moment, it didn’t feel like a dream at all.

There was a time when seeing you in my dreams would make me cry a lot—not because the dream was sad, but because waking up without you felt unbearable. That moment—when reality hits—was always the hardest, and it scared me more than anything.

But this time was different.

When I woke up, I didn’t cry. Instead, I realized something… it had been days since I last saw you in my dreams, and years since I last saw you, touched you, or felt your presence the way I once could. And somehow, I’ve just been going on with life.

I don’t really say this out loud to people, but I miss you. I truly do.

People often say that after a few years, you forget the voice, the smell, the little details of someone you’ve lost. But I don’t think that’s true. Not at all. Your voice still echoes in my mind, your presence still lingers in familiar places, and your love… it still lives in everything you once cared about.

Sometimes, in the most ordinary moments, I think of you. Like when I sit in a car—I wonder if I would have been driving myself everywhere by now, or if you would still be the one dropping me off, making sure I reached safely so I wouldn’t have to worry about anything. I wonder if you would be waiting for me at home after a long time, asking Mum to cook all my favorite food just because I am home.

I think about our trips to Siliguri… would they have been more frequent if you were here? Would we have gone out more, trying different foods together? I imagine us stopping at West Point on the way to Gangtok, walking around, shopping, picking out clothes for each other like it was the simplest joy.

And then there are thoughts that quietly stay at the back of my mind… like how I wouldn’t have to worry about things like gold prices for my wedding or the pressure to build our own home, because you would be there, taking care of it in your own way. I wonder how many of my worries wouldn’t even exist if you were still here.

I think about how you showed up for people—how you always gave your best. The way you loved… it was full, it was generous, it was everything. And sometimes, that becomes a silent pressure for me and Mum. Because being you is not easy. Being there for everyone the way you were—it’s hard.

There are moments when it feels like maybe we are not enough, or not doing enough. Like somewhere, someone might think, “If Dad were here, things would be better.” We try so hard not to let that be true. We give everything we can, just so no one feels that your absence has left something lacking.

Even though your presence is missed every single day, even in the smallest and most ordinary moments, we try our best not to let people feel that way.

Mum is doing an incredible job giving and doing exactly everything like you would have done. 

 She’s strong in ways I didn’t understand before, loving in ways that quietly fill the gaps. She takes care of me and everyone you cared.

I remember you—not with a sense of loss that leaves me hopeless, or with the fear that I will never see you again. That’s not what we believe. 

I’m learning to be okay. I’m learning to carry you with me without breaking every time. I am learning to miss you a little less each day, I know, deep in my heart, that this is not the end. Because as a believer, I hold on to the hope that we will meet again.That one day, in a place far more beautiful than this, I will see you again in eternity. 

And when I see you again, I hope you are healthy and as happy as ever.

I remember you. Always.