It was the sound of his snoring that hit me first. Pifas always snored. I still remember the sound. I still miss the sound, on the weekends especially so.

Then as I cuddled against my pillow under my Superman sheets, I suddenly remembered a hospital bed, and my father's feeble arm around me. A... a concrete memory. I don't get many of those. Usually it's just a sound, like the snore, or a smell or feel of something, like my mother's smell or my grandmother's soft belly. The taste of tamales in December.

But this time... this triggered an actual memory. I remember, the room was white. I was in the hospital visiting my dad. Mom was there too, but it felt like I was alone with him. 'Ama was into something else.

And I was tired. I felt a little sick. Sick with worry, probably. I knew my father was dying. Heck, we all knew, all of us in that room. And I remember being frightened, like a child. I was regressing back to a child-like horror I couldn't subdue. I... wanted to be... held, and... comforted, somehow. I knew I had to be strong. And Pifas looked so withered...

So he scoots over on his bed and makes a space for me to crawl in to. "Andale, andale," he insists, and squirms some more to the other side of the bed. "Aqui conmigo, andale." And mom tells me to go ahead, and I scamper in. I don't really lie in the bed, just kinda perch. I don't wanna disturb my father. I know he feels like shit. But he smiles at me and puts a feeble arm awkwardly around my shoulders. I kinda cuddle up against him and smell his sickness, like the scent of raw liver. It makes my stomach clench a little, but I shove the feeling aside. I need to enjoy this, I tell myself. I might never have the chance to hold myself against my father like this again.