When my father died almost eight years ago, my mother gave one of his watches to my husband. It’s a beautiful timepiece, and my husband usually wears it on special occasions. My husband has never been a habitual watch-wearer, so this one has spent most days in its box.

Until the other day, that is. I rediscovered it after my own watch’s battery died. My watch is like an appendage. I’m very discombobulated without it. So, as I was looking for another watch that worked, I came across the box containing my dad’s precious watch. I studied the box for awhile. I then thought, maybe I can actually wear it.

I opened the box, and there it was, beckoning me. I put it on. The band is a little too big, but the rectangular face doesn’t overpower my wrist. It actually looks surprisingly nice. So I left it on, and except to shower and sleep, I haven’t removed it since.

Wearing it makes me feel closer to my dad. You see, I haven’t been to the cemetery in a really long time. It’s funny. I still think about him everyday, but I just don’t visit his grave very much anymore. He certainly doesn’t care whether I go or not – he’s dead – but graves are there to be visited, aren’t they? I sometimes feel like I’m breaking a cardinal rule about dead people that requires the living to make pilgrimages to the cemetery on a regular basis.

But now that I’m wearing the watch, I think I’m honoring my father infinitely more than a 5-minute visit to a headstone in the ground. Thanks, dad. I love you and miss you. And by the way, your taste in watches was truly impeccable.