Happy Birthday, dad.
Hope you’re listening somewhere, somehow.
I hope you know Phil and I celebrated last night by cracking open the last bottle of your homemade wine to wash down the the mac & cheese, made just the way you always did. It’s my best batch yet, so I think that, somehow, you were celebrating with us. I cried right as we were serving it up. But then we watched TV, just as you would have. Although I doubt you would have thought much of our show-of-choice.
I got up early this morning to drive to La Crosse with some friends for the big organic conference. It’s been a fun day – lots of good info, lots of laughs – but I’ve missed you. I almost didn’t come so I could stay home and celebrate your birthday with Phil, but you would have been sad if I would have missed something I so enjoy, so we celebrated yesterday instead. Hope you don’t mind.
I still think of you lots, and Phil and I both miss you something terrible. I’m not all that sad about missing Nica, so don’t you worry about that. We put in another offer on a house yesterday. I wish you would have been around so I could have called you and told you about it. You’re the only person I could always count on to just be there, and to be excited for whatever step I was going to take next. Calling anyone else just isn’t the same.
I hope you’re happy wherever you are. I hope you have the freedom to do as you please not encumbered by a broken body. I hope you’re staying kind of close – at least some of the time. And I hope you know you’re throughly missed by a large lot of us. We love you. Happy birthday, daddy.