My Name is Mommy

And Dad’s birthday rolls around….again…..already. And, if it seems possible, I miss him more today than ever before.

They say the days get easier, and some aspects of it do, for sure. But the multitudes of missed moments and events at which he should have been here are mounting and I hate it. I see my friends’ dads and I’m left wanting. Wanting my dad. Wanting another moment, another smile, another lame joke, another phone call, another chance to just be together. To breathe the same air, feel the same warmth on our faces, get a chill from the same breeze, live the same moment again.

Most of the time, I’m okay with that. As I’ve said before, it really wasn’t a given that he was my dad to have. He chose to be my dad, and I’ll love him forever for that. And my life is better for it. And, most of the time, I’ll try to dwell in that and that’s enough.

Today? Not so much. Today I just want to possess the immaturity of a child and kick and flail and make a scene and just scream, “It’s not fair! It’s not fair! I want my Daddy!” Yeah, I know, it’s ridiculous. It also happens to be true.

Sometimes I really can’t understand why people don’t want to celebrate special occasions, or commemorate particular events. Most of the time I really don’t get it. Today, however, as I think about what this day will be compared to what it should have been, I can see how preferable it could be to try and forget it rather than to accept a disappointing version of it.

Still, we will celebrate this day. We’ll tell the kids about Papa, and we’ll go out for chili cheese dogs and maybe a milkshake or a rootbeer float (some of his favorites). We’ll share a memory of him, and quite possibly one or more of his silly jokes.

And neither the day nor he will not be forgotten.