... is my daddy's birthday. He would have been 54.
It's hard to believe he's been gone almost two years now. I still will see or hear something funny and think, I'll have to tell Dad about that. There are actually 5 or 6 pictures I took in Ireland that I took because I wanted to show my dad. It didn't occur to me until a few shots in that he wasn't there to see my pictures anymore. It was a strange feeling.
Instead, I talked to him as I looked at the things I took pictures of (weapons on display at the Galway museum). When I hear something funny, I tell him about it. I know he's probably busy, but I talk to him anyway, just in case. I talked to him when I was making the drive from Phoenix to Layton for the FSA conference. I talk to him when I'm watering the orange tree in the back yard, and when I'm watching a TV show we once watched together, and when I'm feeling sad and miss him.
I should be used to it by now. I shouldn't have these little moments where I'm surprised not to hear his voice on the phone, or see him mowing the lawn. I should be used to him being gone by now. Usually I am. I guess I just forget every now and then.
I miss him so much! I hate that when he died I'd been making such poor choices. I know he was worried about me. I hated it. I felt like such a disappointment. All I ever wanted was for my daddy to be proud of me and what I made of myself.
I hope he's proud of me now.
Happy birthday, Daddy.