My dad is 71 today. At least, I think that's the right age. I might be
off by a year. I can't really think about it long enough to figure it
out. It makes my heart hurt too much.
I don't see him as 7, but as 51, the age he was when he died. The age when he left this world
for another. But again, I can't really think about it too long.
For the last 20 years, I've never been sure what to do with this day.
Proceed as normal? Whisper a happy birthday with my eyes shut tight and a
wish to rewind? Nothing feels quite right. Maybe there is no right to
be found. Hope and loss seem to float hand in hand.
My dad had a passionate view of family. He placed it above all else. He loved us most. That love has settled into the core of my
soul. It has laid the foundation for who I am today and tomorrow.
Love is stronger than grief. I often forget that. It's brighter and more
courageous, and has arms that reach wide. Love never wavers. Grief and
sadness shift and move. That's why they catch our focus. The shifting
hurts. At times, it's all we can see.
But Love stands ready, simply waiting, never moving. Today I reach out
and grab her and let her arms hold tight. My heart hurts less when I
stand still long enough to let Love work it's magic.
Happy Birthday dad. I think of you every. single. day.
Love with arms open wide.
