Papa Day

It's my Dad's birthday today.  He would be 82.  I can imagine him at 82.  Still sharp, still funny, but maybe a little slower, maybe a little less inclined to cook for 30 people.

It's been 10 years since he died.  I was mad at him on the day he died. I lived with the guilt of that for some time, yet despite my anger at him --- not even sure why I was angry --- I didn't discount the love we had for each other.

Oddly, I've grown closer to him in the past 10 years --- as I've grown and matured, I've been able to see what a good Dad he was, how he gave and gave and gave. 

I think of the song Forever by Rascall Flatts every once in a while.  I feel it was written to my dad from me --- It wasn't long enough, we were just getting started.  But it was long enough to last forever.

My kids tell stories about my dad that I've told them, or that they've heard from their Aunt and Uncles.  He lives on.

I walk with him every day.  This morning was no exception.  I put in my headphones and walked, noticing the stars, then the opening of the day, the birds, the dogs, the leaves. . .  sometimes Sinatra belts a song to me and I hear his voice and see him dancing; sometimes I see an errant dandelion in the winter grass; sometimes the smell of his sauce wakes me up at night, and my stomach growls.

He lives on.  He lives on in my brother's eyes, in my sister's laughter, in my mother's gaze.

I think that if he could make a wish today, he would wish goodness for all of us.  He would wish that we let go of the things we cannot control, that we stay in the present moment, and that we are grateful for what we have.  He would want us to take a big breath, and blow out all 82 candles --- blowing away the things that do not serve us in this lifetime.  He would want us to know his love in our hearts, and lead our days with it.

I miss you Dad, but I'm also pretty amazed at how you are still so present in my life.  Thank you.