Last year, I didn’t write about you publicly at all. (This pandemic took over—it sometimes seems—everything.) But last year, I planted two blueberry bushes, and this year, they flowered. Today, thirteen years after you’ve gone and three years after Uncle Peter too, I have been thinking about blueberries.

I remember being maybe 7 or 8, walking along with you and my siblings in the woods, hunting for berries. We followed you from not-too-far away as we left the safety of forged trails and trekked under a canopy of trees. We brushed aside pricker bushes and swatted at bugs as you became an intense seeker, your eyes bluer and your gate wider. You seemed to have to force yourself to slow down so our shorter legs could keep up. When you spotted that crop of wild berries, a big grin spread across your face, your gapped front teeth jutting out as you hollered, “Look! See?” You encouraged us to pick from the branches and taste the fresh, feral fruit. What a delicious adventure!

So this date remains a reminder, each year, of what you left us—things like a true love of blueberries. (atp)

 

Birthday Cake

Mom told me this past weekend that you didn't have cake on your birthday as a kid. The vision of you devouring one, two, sometimes three slices of chocolate cake each birthday became more brilliant in my memory when I learned this. You'd polish off that cake -- and ice cream -- with the glee of a child. And then you'd lick the plate. You'd belly-laugh after that plate was clean and tease us if we were a little embarrassed by it. I can see your smile and hear you laugh, still.

You got sillier and more open about being silly as you aged, and on what would have been your 80th birthday, I'm feeling a bit sad not to know what it would have been like to see you eat cake today. Maybe your hair would have finally gone white. Maybe you would have false teeth or a bigger belly. Maybe you would have been sicker or frailer. Maybe you would have been even sillier or maybe you'd have lost your memory.

Not knowing is a part of grief and loss that can make us feel more distracted by what would have than by what was. Maybes I can't answer to, so I try to stick to cake. When I tell people about how you loved chocolate cake on your birthday, maybe more deeply because it was something you didn't get to enjoy as a child, they take part in your memory and spirit. Friends send me photos of chocolate cake they're enjoying today, drinks they're toasting you with, and similar notes and images of love for the good stuff.

I wish you got to turn 80, Dad, but I love that you live on in all of us, in all of the cake that was gobbled up today.

-atp

Ten Years

Ten years ago, we lost you. Ten years ago, everything changed.

Ten years filled with memories, without you. Ten years filled with changes to families and relationships and love, without you.

Ten years of remembering you and loving you and honoring you. Ten years to be reminded life is short and beautiful and unkind and unfair and joyful.

Ten years of missing you, Dad, is a lifetime and a moment at once, but it's true every day.

(atp)

Celebrating

Dad would have been 78 today. Today, I celebrate him with joy and silliness, with chocolate cake smashed into my face and a nutty grin on as I scoop more ice cream onto my plate, with laughter and love for family. I celebrate him with singing and dancing in the living room to his favorite tunes. I celebrate the life he gave me and the features on my face that prove we're related. I celebrate him with dreams of a future that's better than what he had but honors what he gave. Grief won't let me stop missing him, but I won't let it stop me from celebrating him and having this day of his memory as a happy pause and a celebration of his life. I have extra reason to celebrate this year and feel you always at my side, Dad. (atp)

Birthdays Are for Celebrating

A man who taught me to be a witness for others by witnessing his struggles, a man who taught me how to love music by loving music, a man who inadvertently taught me about gender inequality (and equality) by kissing his son as well as his daughters good night, a man who took care of a lot of people because that's what he felt a man should do, and a man who taught me how to be unapologetic about being silly because life is too damn short to get caught up in what other people think--my dad. Celebrating him today on his birthday and all days. (atp)

Roy

On this day in 1939, a beautiful baby boy was born in Saint Francis, Maine to a young couple. He was their first child of  a dozen. I wonder if they knew what they were starting upon his arrival. I may be partial, but I have always thought that their first was their best accomplishment. Others were not of the same caliber somehow, although, also loved much. Happy Birthday # 75 to their son, my husband, my kids' Dad, Grandpa, a/k/a Blue-Eyed Grandpa, brother, cousin, nephew, great nephew, uncle, great uncle, brother-in-law, and friend to many. xos tiab x 75!!!! Hope you're at peace among your loved ones now. more xos and toasts to you. Good Night. Happy Birthday!

September Memories

Today is full of 'em.  xos :-)