a letter

Dear Daddy,

I remember back in August, back when we had some hope of the medicine prolonging your life as long as possible, you said, "I may make it to 70," and you were so full of hope and so emotional that you were choking back tears. Today is your 66th birthday and, just like Mom, you died within two weeks of your birthday. You know how much I love birthdays - not just mine, but anybody's - and how people should be surrounded by friends and family and live like a queen or king for the day. I have so many great memories of your birthdays - waiting in anticipation for you to open your gifts, your mugging for Mom's ever present camera, the big meal or cake we would all share together.

Today would be extremely difficult to get through if it weren't for the fact that, even now, Steph is in a plane over the Atlantic Ocean on his way to me. It wasn't planned that he would arrive on your birthday; in fact, I only realized it a couple of days ago. Tonight we'll raise glasses in your honor and lament the fact that you're not here to see it.

I love you always,
V.