August thirteenth. For many, it’s just a normal day. Some years, it’s the dreaded “Friday the 13th.” But for me, it’s my father’s birthday. A day of eternal celebration. Sixty seven years ago, my father was born, at a soon to be decommissioned hospital where me and my children were also born.
From the beginning of my memories, he was my hero. My dad and I were like peanut butter and jelly. Good by ourselves but better together.
I only regret the times that in hindsight I could have spent more time with him but didn’t due to “marital obligations.”
I’m only thankful that his passing has given me guidance on what is important in life, and those are the ones you have, the ones you love.
I have almost every one of his worldly possessions. Some of which are valuable, some of which are not. His clothes are being transformed into quilts for me and his granddaughters. His vehicles are at my house. The thousands of pictures and video he shot over his lifetime are in the process of being digitized. I just need to find a good way to share them with the family – for input on who/what/where regarding a lot of them.
Happy birthday dad, I’ll be forever missing you.