Today would have been your 70th birthday. And, truth be told, I miss you terribly, particularly today. I am okay, far better than okay, most of the time because years have rolled by and I have stumbled into this really great life, this life I love, the kind of richly full life you implored us girls to have before you left us. I have these three amazing little creatures who distract me and delight me to no end. They are little philosophers, Dad. Already full of keenness and questions. Questions that make me think, think of you, and us, and remember. You would love them, my girls. And they would love you. This much I know.
I have so much to say. And I will say it. In time. But not today. Today I just feel really sad and I am going to allow myself to feel this sadness, to sink into it and let it sink into me, instead of trying to stuff it into words, or more words than these. In many ways, it's a simple kind of sadness, today's sadness, a sweet, uncomplicated, pure, almost celebratory sadness. I feel young today, painfully young, like a little girl who has lost her dad. Just like that, actually.
I hope the fishing is great where you are, that the waters of your days are teeming with wild ones.
Happy birthday, Dad.