I remember that Nana cooked enchiladas because you asked for them.
I remember you were wearing jeans, keds, and a red and white checked sleeveless shirt.
I remember standing on the stairs, and how you had your head leaned back on the chair, and how we were talking, and you turned and smiled at me.
That's all I remember because it was eight years ago, and I didn't know I was supposed to be savoring it so. But they're lovely memories.