My daughter made my tea the way I like it

Dear Delyara, Too much milk. No sugar. Slightly too strong because she still thinks grown-up tea should taste serious. She came in carrying the mug with both hands and looking so pleased with herself that I nearly cried before I even took the first sip. It wasn’t about tea. It was about being remembered. Properly. Quietly. In a house where I do so much of the remembering for everyone else. I think that is why care from children can hit so hard. It circles back unexpectedly through all the ordinary years and lands in a moment that looks small from outside and enormous from inside. I drank the whole thing while it was still warm. That felt like a second miracle.