Diet Dr. Pepper is my coffee. So when I pressed that well-worn button on the break room vending machine this morning and nothing happened, I have to admit, it rocked my world for a second.

But if nearly five decades on this planet have taught me anything, it’s that it’s okay when things don’t go exactly as I plan; when things don’t fit neatly inside the little boxes I create. Sometimes a disappointment can even lead to something better.

I chose Diet Coke instead.

Rather than waste energy ticked at the vending guy or lamenting my bad luck, I gratefully popped open the can and poured the bubbly, caffeinated liquid into my Tervis tumbler. I rinsed the can and was about to toss it in the recycling when I noticed something printed on the side: Share a Diet Coke with Dad.

Now anyone who knew my dad also knows he never drank a Diet Coke. At 6’ 3” and maxing out at 160 pounds, he didn’t need diet anything. But regular Coke was his calling card, his only remaining vice after tossing the cigarettes.

He’s been gone 16 years now. Taken too soon, like so many people, by cancer. How I’d love to crack open a couple cold sodas—any kind—and shoot the breeze with him.

But at least the unexpected detour in my routine gave me the gift of thinking about him; recalling his goofy laugh and infectious smile, and remembering how crazy much he loved his family.

We may not have been able to sit at a table together and hold hands, but I know that today, in some small way, I really did Share a Diet Coke with Dad. And that was worth one Diet Dr. Pepper-free morning, and a few unexpected tears in the break room.