Today, Dad would be 68.
For a guy who said for 30+ years that he would die young (a story for another time) I guess 67 years wasn't so bad.
His birthday was not something he really made a big deal about. I don't know if it had to do with how he was raised, or what, but we never really made a "do" about his birthday. Mom would make him a cake and that's about it. So today I worry about her. It's another first that she is experiencing. I did call and talk to her for a bit. She said that it has been a hard day for her. She went to do laundry at the laundromat. Of course she needed to do laundry, but I think she also needed some quiet time to think about Dad. Forty years (the time they were married) is a lot of birthday memories to go through. I hope she found some peace.
Me? Well, today I am racked with guilt. I seldom sent him a birthday card (partly because we never made a big deal out of his birthday and partly revenge). Never did I call on his birthday, always rationalizing that he couldn't hear me anyway so what was the point? I did sing "Happy Birthday" for him though, even though we were half a state away from each other and he would never know. I am racked with guilt. Did he know I loved him? Did he know that I admired him for so many things?
So now, that we are more than just a couple hundred miles apart, I sing again. . .
Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday, dear Dad!
Happy birthday to you . . .
