Sometimes I still think I can hear his breathing,
Deep heavy breaths that whistled out his nose from years of smoking,
Even though I know he’s long gone.  

And when he was eating ice cream, the smacking always followed, just barely loud enough so that I strained to hear the TV. His grey eyebrows raised high with his eyes wide and mouth gaping open, completely and utterly entranced while he gulped and slurped down his midnight snack with a spoon that was too big for my mouth.