This afternoon, a cup of coffee reminded me of my father. I saw the cup left over coffee which is approximately half a cup of tiny size. That little mug is what my mom used to drink my dad's favorite coffee after work.
'where is the spoon?
'mother do you know that dad most like to drink coffee pake spoon' With half shouted my dad to my mother who was then didapur.
'yes, ya takin. Mother forgot 'While running, my mother handed me the teaspoon my dad used to drink a little bit of coffee that slowly began to cool.
'father likes nih kalo sugar and coffee fit like this' While enjoying coffee favorite fire and smile to mother.
'if you go again, you get the coffee for nduk's father' Dad turned to me and pointed at me with the spoon he was holding.
'why me? I do not like coffee. '
'what's the taste of coffee?' My sarcasm to my father
'well, you do not know how good it is.'
'once cobain. Later if the remaining daddy coffee, you drink. Just a little need not much, it's important ngerasain how coffee taste '
'hahaha .. father can aja'
'okay deh .. ntar not cobain coffee the rest of the father'
From there began my interest in coffee, let alone the rest of the father. There seems to be a different taste between my dad's coffee with the usual coffee.
'well, I'm not a bikini coffee. I myself who make it. Hehe..'
Daddy confused 'where is your mother where? How tumben you are to make? '
'there is tuh. Mother solat '
With a little doubt as clearly visible on my father's face, my father began to drink my homemade coffee. 'hmmmm ..' murmured my father
'how?' I was curious about my father's flat expression
'delicious' Dad said with a little smile of a knot.
I know that smile, it means father likes the taste. Dad likes my first coffee. A special happiness can get a smile from the father, although his smile is a little knot. But his eyes can not be lied to, it seems like to say 'your coffee is good nduk'
Since then, father has begun to rarely ask mothers to make coffee. What my father was looking for was my coffee. Hehe .. proud of it can rival the taste of mother-made coffee, but nothing replaces the mother's hand skills while cooking in the kitchen. Compared to me who can only make coffee.
Coffee as our arena (father and I) to vent. When I need to talk, always coffee as a bribe so that father more comfortable with curhatanku. 'nih yah, coffee'
'ah .. dad tau sure end up want to confide right?
'hehe .. father know aja.'
And do not forget after my father left half his coffee, he always gave it to me. 'nih, half of it. As per your request '
Looks like dad was already memorized with my song waiting for the remaining coffee daddy.
Since my father was sick, my father had begun to reduce his coffee.
'well, do not miss the coffee?' my candle
'Kangen, there bikinin for the father dikit aja' Pintanya with pitiful tone
'eh .. uh .. want to macem-macem ya? Want to hurry again ininya ?? ' Soon the mother scolded us with her left hand on the waist and the right index finger pointing at my father's stomach.
My father had chronic gastritis, either because my father often drank coffee or somehow because of his own father's habit of liking to take breakfast. What is clear father looked pale that time. I tried to be tough with my father's condition but I could not resist the teardrops as I prostrated myself to God in my prayer.
Four years passed, the incident was just like yesterday. I lost my father, I lost our togetherness when we vent though his bribe was just a cup of coffee. And most importantly, I miss my dad's leftover coffee.
I drank half of the coffee in the kitchen. I do not know who the rest of the coffee is, but I imagine it's the coffee left over from my dad.