Birthdays are fun in my family. You call up the birthday person and no matter how old everyone is, you gather everyone in the house and sing happy birthday to them. Usually terribly. My dad hung tight to that tradition. He would call you and all by himself sing as badly as humanly possible. He would frequently make up his own words or even an entire song for extra flair. It was amazing.
This is the first time that I can ever remember that I didn't get to sing to him on his birthday. When my dad had first died I knew that certain days would be harder than others. I saw his birthday approaching, of course. Time has a way of just marching on even when your heart hurts. I gave myself space to be sad today. I didn't know how I would be emotionally, but I wanted to make sure I had the opportunity to be present in my sadness. Unfortunately, with little kids around, I have to plan when I get to be sad. And you know what? I am sad he's not here. I miss him every day. Its kind of like this: My inner being is a big house, and my relationships with people are different rooms within me. Some rooms are a little cold and dusty. They weren't always like that. The things that used to occupy it slowly got removed as time went on and my relationship drifted. The room may even shrink as that happens. I still go in there sometimes, but its just kind of sad now. Some rooms are bright and cheery with lots of happiness. I imagine lots of music, life and plants and bright paint on the walls. Some rooms are just filled with a comfy couch and not much else. Those rooms are filled with longing because I miss that person Some rooms are stark, uncomfortable and cold. There may even be pain in those rooms. Everyone in my life has their own room and it correlates to my relationship with them. My dad's room is pretty special. Bright, colorful, and happy. It is full of kitty cats and lots of pictures. All the furniture is really comfy. The music of my childhood is always playing. The room feels so safe. So secure. Its one of the biggest rooms I have. Its one of my favorite rooms. I spent a LOT of time in there. Then, in the early days in 2019, the room went dark and silent. It's still there. Its not collecting dust. Everything is still in it. Its still one of the biggest rooms I have. The lights just don't work anymore. When i go into his room now and sit in the dark, I am touched with sadness, but also gratitude. My life was not perfect. But as I look around the room I am happy I got to be his daughter. I got to be one of his closest people. I was privileged to know him like I did. He still is part of me. He still there. I can still sense him. I feel him with me right now as I'm bawling writing this. Today I am obviously sad, but I'm also am celebrating him. He was born on this date. He was raised by amazing parents who managed to keep him on this Earth despite all his childhood illnesses and cancer. After he got through that his parents managed to not murder him as he grew up. OMG he was a naughty little punk. I'm sure my aunts have some stories! As he navigated adulthood, life threw him some curveballs. Some really painful ones as a matter of fact, but he never let it make him bitter. He never gave up on life or the world. That attitude of gratitude, that acceptance of people where they were, that's what made him so special to so many people. So today, with tears on my cheeks, I celebrate my daddy. And I know there are many of you feeling the same way. To Billy O: You are loved. Thank you for being here.
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AuthorI'm so tired. The children are so not tired. |