up early enough in the morning, he’d scratch at the side of the bed to wake me up. later in life, when he could no longer climb stairs, he’d smell the coffee first thing in the morning, timed to brew the same time i’d wake up. he’d be up and watching for me to come down the stairs, the first to greet me every day.
at night, after we got the kids in bed, he’d be standing in the kitchen waiting for us to come down. it was his favorite time of day, when he had us all to himself. he’d attempt to share our popcorn, or have a treat of 