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.


zoom said...

This is a heart-warming tribute you've written here for your dad. I like how you love him so much you don't need to idealize him.

red fraggle said...

Thanks Zoom - that's was what I wanted to get across.