It’s strange how our thought processes work. Well, maybe mine. I’m standing in line at Starbucks, I’m hungry, I’m thinking of cheese and ham croissant toasted. I’m thinking of a coffee I always order at Starbucks. It suddenly slips my mind. Not cappuccino, not latte. Starbucks coffee is so bad I have a special combo so that I can get the caffeine without the watered-down flavour. What was it? Macchiato,… Caramel?

Caramel macchiato was what Matt introduced me to in Vancouver 2006. I was disillusioned with Starbucks coffee being “lame-o”. That is, having the smell but not the flavour. Or being so stingy with their espressos. (Having said this, I think Starbucks coffee has much improved over the years.) Anyway, Matt ‘s suggestion worked. And I managed to keep those caffeine headaches at bay.

Matt. Funny how the mind works to string together a series of random thoughts to bring back a memory of a moment. Matt died in 2007. I didn’t know it then when I had that conversation with him, but he had cancer. Within 18 months of that conversation, he passed. I feel the passing of time since Matt’s death. Most people had a mobile phone, and Nokia could not be knocked off its perch. Apple was just about to release it’s first iPhone. Who knew then that everyone would have a mini desktop in their hand less than 10 years later. We’ve seen the first U.S. Black president, Michael Jackson died, and social media taking the world by storm. What a different world I am living in, since Matt died.

So as I have my little moment with my macchiato, now flavoured with hazelnut, I’m dedicating my little post to my cousin Matt, who died too young at 47. I’m spending a moment remembering all the people I know who have died over the years (some had lives cut tragically short), the ages they were at, the ages they would be, the loved ones left behind, the memories they might have had, the lives they might have lived.  I try to recall as much as I can. In fact, for a life lived with so many interactions, I recall very little. My memories are like grains of random pictures, un-ordered years and forgotten names that disappear as quickly, like sand through my fingers. I catch a moment, … and then it’s gone.