Happy Birthday, Dad.
My father would have been 84 today. Had he not done 9 years of battle with, likely, benzene induced AML, I think he would be here celebrating. It’s taken a long time to be able to visualize him in robust health. But I see it again. I hear his laugh, and see his smile. Cheers, Dad! Here’s to you.
I asked my daughter this morning if my mom had shown any signs of knowing it was my dad’s birthday. Mom hadn’t indicated in anyway that she remembered. I’ve decided not to call her for two reasons: 1) I don’t want her to feel bad if she indeed has forgotten, and 2) if she has forgotten, bringing up the date will make her sad. If she remembers, she’ll call me.
This afternoon I set up our upstairs deck, just a little. It still needs a light pressure washing to remove the winter’s algae from the deck, furniture, and glass railings. None the less, I’m sitting in a ‘steamer’ chair looking at the sound view (I can type and gaze simultaneously!) on the first early evening that it’s warm enough to enjoy outside. The birds are singing, the trees are unfurling their canopies, the chickens are content, sedums grow lush at my feet in pots my father made, the train chugs along at the water’s edge, the sunset is shaping up and creeping slowly north. I can’t think of a better place to steep in memories of dad.