Sixty

Today is my daddy's Birthday.

He would have turned 60 - and he would have spent today complaining about getting old.

He would have said "if I'd known I was going to live this long, I would have taken better care of myself".

He said that every year on his Birthday.  For as long as I can remember. 

If he were still here, I would have spent the better part of the last two weeks agonizing about what to buy him for a gift.  It wasn't so much that he HAD everything, as he just didn't WANT for much.

I think that's nice.  I love that about him.  And I feel the same way, really.

I miss him so much.  But not in a painful, heart-wrenching sort of way anymore.

I think of him fondly mostly.

I experience brief moments of sadness when I realize he's never met my daughter.  That he never heard William speak a single word. 

He's missing so much.

All the best parts of my life, really.  He just missed them.  Missed them by THAT much.

I hope wherever he is, that he knows it's his birthday.  That we loved him.  That a big 'ol gaping hole was left when he died. 

And I hope today he's eating angel food cake and playing a mean game of Scrabble.

Happy Birthday, Daddy.