The Shoes We Don't Try to Fill

Yet another Starbucks morning with my bean, but today felt different. I spoke to him at length about his father and why Starbucks has suddenly become my favourite cafe over the last 5 years. 

At 7.5 years old, he asks all the right questions and listens so attentively that a wet sponge would be put to shame. I told him to remember his late father with love and respect, even if he doesn't remember him well.

"What if you suddenly die, maamaa?" he asked, with worry in his beady-eyes and voice.

"Why would I, darling?" I asked.

"Because I already have a father who is dead."

I had to explain his father's life choices that led to his freak and untimely demise, and assure him that neither of us will follow in his footsteps. We will only take away everything he did right—starting with his hard work, intelligence, and love for family. 

As I spoke about my beloved late husband to our son, I felt a sense of relief in my heart, as if someone were pouring buckets of ice cubes on my chest.

The entire conversation, which started at Starbucks and ended at Lifestyle's watch counter, felt extremely therapeutic for me. 

Fathers play such an important role in shaping your personality. Mine made me sharp yet loving, hardworking yet warm, aggressive yet all heart, and razor-sharp focused both at work and at home. 

I can never fill his father's shoes, and I don't even want to try. But I try every day to pass all of his work ethics and values on to him. For everything else, there is always Starbucks and its ambience, which feels like home—or rather, feels like my late husband.