A few weeks before Dad died, his friend Jerry bought him a new watch battery. Five years later, the watch is still ticking.

Apart from wondering where Jerry purchased the battery, I have often reflected on Dad’s watch and its longevity, how it has kept going so long after his passing. It’s a vivid reminder of his enthusiasm for life. Even when Dad was dying, he wanted to know what time it was.

A watch is an intimate thing. It’s worn on the pulse, a shortcut to the heart. It becomes a part of its owner in a way few other items do. I’ve come to count on Dad’s watch being close to mine every evening, as if through our timepieces Dad and I are somehow still communicating.

The battery won’t last forever, I know, nor will the watch. But sometimes I like to pretend that they will.