Today, while having lunch in the cafeteria at work I realized that due to the fact that it was pretty late I was all alone. Not a single other employee was seated and eating lunch at 4 pm! Woohoo! I could have my tuna salad in peace and quiet and jot down where my first pay is going to go when pay day comes. So I start writing on the paper napkin and crossing and stuff and then suddenly I realize that that’s what my dad used to do, my pappa as we called him. I glance at the paper and it was almost deja-vu (ish) Back in the States my sister Gianna and I would always find newspapers with numbers written all over the place laying around the house, especially the kitchen, and we’d wonder what he was adding up. What was he budgeting for? I guess we’ll never know. My dad passed away almost two years ago. I was 7 months pregnant with Maria. It was tough because I didn’t even realize he was sick, so sick that he would be succumbed by whatever it was he died from. Old-age, and not enough proper care. The pictures I’ve put up are from 2011, the summer we realized something was up with our little guy and the summer I should’ve realized something was seriously up with my dad as well. My dad, with all his flaws as a parent and a husband, was a very charismatic guy. People enjoyed his company, he was funny without even knowing it or trying to be. That summer though, the last time he saw Panayioti, he just wasn’t himself. He kept saying he was tired. And the man that lived for food and tables strewn with platters and plates and bowls just didn’t have the same passion for cooking anymore. That summer we visited his one observation of Panayioti was that he was too skinny. Oh, pappa.