Loss can make ordinary memories suddenly feel sacred.

What turns out to matter is almost never the big occasions. It is a way of standing in a doorway, a phrase repeated for years, an argument about nothing in a parked car. At the time these seemed like filler between the important parts. Afterwards they turn out to have been the important parts, because they are the texture of a person rather than the summary.

Write down the small ones before they blur, the phrases, the habits, the exact way they said your name. You will not remember them as clearly in a decade as you do now. Other people who loved them will be grateful you did.