Happy birthday

Dear Dad,

Today would have been your 66th birthday. I have a harder time dealing with your loss on the anniversary of your birth than I do on the anniversary of your death for some reason. People keep telling me it gets better. People are full of shit. Maybe it gets easier in time, but I don't think it ever gets better. Ritch and I were talking a couple of weeks ago (we've both been dealing with some weighty issues lately) and we agreed that the hardest thing is not being able to pick up the phone and pour our troubles out to you. You always had something to say to us, sometimes it was good advice, sometimes it was something that just made us laugh and feel better for having laughed about it.

Sundays are the days I miss you most. Our 6 AM phone conversations before I'd go to work when I was at home, or coffee and breakfast out when I was down visiting. The banter back and forth about the amount of milk and sugar that Ritch and I put in our coffee, bad puns, and jokes about what to do with a frozen 20 lb. turkey that you'd been given the night before Thanksgiving. No one gets the "but was it frozen" line now that you're gone. It's no fun having an in joke when I'm the only one who gets it. I still find myself picking up the phone to tell you something every once in a while.

I miss being able to pick your brain about problems at work. I wish I'd asked you how to pour a slab, how to fix dozens of things and the best way to sharpen a lawn mower blade. I find myself quoting some of the things you'd say, usually about 4-wheel drive SUVs and the people who drive them and your line about how any idiot can mount a plow on the front of their truck but not everyone knows how to use one. I wish I could tell you about all the things I learned from you and been able to put into practice. I frequently tell people "My dad taught me how to plow" with pride in my voice. I also know way more about bridge construction than anyone not in the trade should know. I remember you telling me to find out where the locals gather and to get my coffee there, to learn all the backroads in a new area because you never know when you're going to need to know where they go and I've put that advice to good use.

I miss your smell - Lucky Strikes, gasoline, and honest working-man's sweat. I miss the bear hugs out in the dooryard and you telling me to drive safe when I'd leave. I miss the love and pride that shone from your eyes when you'd talk about us to others. I miss riding backroads with Johnny Cash on the tape deck and listening to you tell me about our family history, even if I'd heard it a hundred times before. I miss stopping and watching deer in the fields at dusk and sharing the beauty in silence.

I feel your loss as a great ache, but I know that I wouldn't trade it for anything. It only hurts because I know what I've lost.

Happy birthday, Dad. I miss you.

Random, deep thoughts

Dear Dad,

It's been a while, but you're on my mind and in my heart every day. I really miss you and so does Ritch. I don't think either one of us realized how much we turned to you for advice or an ear until you were gone. We've both been going through rough patches lately and your advice is sorely missed.

We're still trying to decide what to do about the Pond. Ritch wants to sell, I want to keep it. I need to go see Ritch and the two of us need to work it out. I've still got some money set aside, hopefully it will be enough to buy out Ritch's share. I can't imagine not having that place in my life. It's where I feel closest to you. I figure I've probably missed newt-mating season this year, I'd sure like to be able to see it in future years.

Thanks for the visit last October. It came at a good time, like I said, I've been going through a rough patch. There are people I can share that with and people who would label me a nut for believing it. But how else do I explain your scent in my car when you've never been in it, and there wasn't anything that had ever been in your presence in the car for a very long time. And my friend Michael smelled it, too. I miss that smell - wood smoke and Lucky Strikes, sweat, gasoline, and Ivory soap. The unique melange of smells that says "Dad" to me.

We had a bird-watching festival at the park yesterday. I didn't get to take in much of it, I had a volunteer crew that I needed to work with. But I did get to catch the last program of the day. A place called The Center for Wildlife came with three birds (and no. before you ask: no frozen turkeys!), a great-horned owl, a red-tailed hawk and a falcon called a merlin. Learned all kinds of cool stuff that I didn't know about owls before. Tell you about them some other time, though. I also got to see a bittern last week while I was out and about posting fliers for the festival. I was pretty excited, first one I've managed to catch a glimpse of, ever. I miss sharing this stuff with you in person. Mostly because of all the bad puns and stupid jokes would manage to interject into the conversation, but also because you'd share my excitement and wonder over the small, silly things.

Oh, hey, and I've been having Bill luck wicked bad lately. Every piece of equipment I touch lately seems to crap out on me. Any suggestions on how to exorcise the bad spirits? Want to come haunt my shop and fix my equipment for a couple of weeks? Just don't blow anything up or catch anything on fire, okay?

Well, gotta go. My pizza's getting cold.

Miss you, Old Man.

Love, Tami