Sixty-four

(Warning: tearjerker post ahead; tissues may be needed)

February 7th.

What would have been my dad's sixty-fourth birthday.

Four years ago, we celebrated with him for the last time. He had already been diagnosed with lung cancer and was getting ready to start chemo and radiation. He was feeling okay, and it was a good day.

I don't just want to dwell on the end, though.

I found some scrapbook pages that I wanted to share, so you could get a glimpse of the man who called me his "tiger". It's fitting, because the first two photos are pages from a scrapbook that I made for Dad on his birthday in 2001. It was a book filled with my memories of the two of us...


Senior year of high school. Love the big hair. Mine kept getting longer and thicker, Dad's kept getting shorter and gray-er. Good thing I was the last kid. Dad helped me buy my first car. It was no Corvette, but I loved it!

Fast forward four years. I graduated nursing school, got a job (much to Dad's relief, I'm sure, although he used to say I should join the Navy and be a Navy nurse...I don't know why), and met Joe. Dad was a quiet man, and he didn't usually give any advice, but he supported every single decision I ever made. I loved him for that.

The top photo is Dad surrounded by his two younger brothers, Dan and Tom. The bottom photo is one of my favorite, dancing at my wedding reception. I always did love how tall he was (6' 5"). Someone I could look up to, quite literally.


These next pages are from my family scrapbook. This was our last Easter together. Dad loved hiding the eggs for the kids, and the year before he even put gold $1 coins in each egg.

I love these photos for many reasons. Our last Easter together. Dad still feeling relatively good, despite the chemo. The way you can see just where Gabe got his olive complexion (Dad was this tan in March, folks, always). All three of my kids with both of my parents, smiling and content.


Finally, our last birthday with Dad, in 2005. I couldn't scan the whole page, thus the cut-off body parts...sorry. It took a long time for me to be able to make this page (a year), and I cried so hard that I cut my thumb with my paper-cutter and had to take a first-aid break. It was truly therapeutic for me, though, a way to deal with all the emotions of losing my dad. Kind of like this post.


Sixty is such a young age to die. I take care of eighty-year-olds all the time, and some days it makes me sad that we didn't get to have more time together. But you know, it was sixty good years, and I got to be there for over half of them. My dad was nowhere near perfect, but he was mine and I loved him.



Happy Birthday, Dad. I can only imagine what you're doing right now, but I know one day we will see each other again, and I can fill you in on everything you've missed, and you can do the same.



I love you.