It's my birthday. I'm old enough not to want a big celebration, but young enough to remember lots of them. A summer birthday is a wonderful thing to a kid. And we had a pool when I was younger. Aunts, uncles, cousins, and best friends all converged on our house during the summer for a cookout and pool party. My brother's birthday is in July, and we celebrated our special days together.
I was ok, remembering this. Until I remembered where I was for my last birthday. I was back home, in my parents' house. Visiting with my Dad. And then I kind of fell apart. Because that was a year ago. A year ago and yesterday, at the same time.
I'll never be able to celebrate my birthday or any other day with him again. The man who was so exhausted by the time he called his parents to tell them of my birth that he fell asleep on the phone is gone. The man who was so excited to be a father that he recorded my earliest babbling and first words is gone. Sometimes I just can't believe he won't be there when I walk through that front door next time. And then I think I'll just put that moment off as long as possible.
It's hard, being far away. Sometimes I can forget, pretend for a while that it isn't true. And then it hits me so hard that I'm crying at my keyboard on my birthday. So hard that I need to explain why I start to cry when I watch my youngest stir his ice cream in his bowl to "warm it up". So hard that I'm not even sure I want to go back home again.
It's my birthday Dad. I wish you were here.
