Today I pulled out your griddle, from way up high – the cabinet I can’t reach unless I stand on a stool.
There were cobwebs on it. It hasn’t been moved in at least two years, three months, and five days. You’ve been gone a long time, JJ.
When I washed it I noticed the faint smell of peanut butter. It made me smile in recognition. Peanut butter french toast was the last thing you cooked on that griddle.
Even though you’re gone, your presence is still everywhere, in places unexpected and surprising. Where will I find you next?