Thursday, December 29, 2011

Rachel's Cooking: Hootenanny Pancakes

Rachel's Cooking: Hootenanny Pancakes

Our last big breakfast before the kids go back, with caramelized apples for A.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Friday, December 2, 2011

Happy birthday dad

Yesterday was your birthday Dad. We had a piece of cheesecake, lit a candle and sang happy birthday. Odd, I know, because as an adult i never once had birthday cake with you. What can I say? Grief demands ceremony. I left my last bite for you. We had greek on wheels because I have fond memories of sharing that with you when you visited.

I still miss you Dad. I get odd in the days before your birthday, father's day and the day you passed. I still feel regret that we didn't spend more time together as adults. I think you knew how much I love you but I wish I could be certain. I wish I hadn't expected perfection from either of us and had seen us as acceptably fallible.



Yesterday I focused on remembering you. I don't have any pictures and the more time passes, the more memory will fade. I thought about


- fishing with you, swimming off the rocks at Frontena
- eating clams for the first time with you
- the night steph was born - your shirt ripped and bloody from an intense labour
- So many meals: chinese food, wing night, the noodles you hung in the laundry room
- you tucking me into bed - even once on a visit when I stayed the night
- thanksgiving in the hotel room in Ottawa - you brought my wee kitten ( Kit Kat ) and made a litter out of a turkey pan. You made portebello mushrooms because i was a veg
-eating cheesecake with you at Disney world - the buffet was endless. I think you let me eat as many pieces as I could.
- You teaching me to ride a bike - at age 11!
- going up to the air traffic control tower on bring your daughter to work day
- Smells: the smell of your old spice in the morning - always comforting; the smell of you all sweaty after a run - salty.

I remember other more painful things, like how you travelled a lot and how I missed you so much. How you seemed like you needed to hit the road and didn't always say goodbye. But I don't mention those things to be petty. You were not perfect is all I want to say. You weren't perfect and I still love you Dad. Dave Mihill I wish you were not gone. I hate that you are gone. I love you with all my heart and I wish you a happy birthday, singing tunelessly from the top of my lungs.

I'm out of breath and you're still gone, but you are not forgotten David Mihill, Dad.