It doesn't seem possible that my Dad would have been 71 today. It also seems equally impossible that he has been gone for almost 9 years now. To me he is frozen in time at 61 years old. He died when he was 62, but the last year is kind of a blur. He changed so much in the last year that the memory of it didn't stick too well. I'm not complaining. I would much rather have the memories of him as a strong, healthy, fun loving person than to be stuck in the last year of his life.
I try to imagine him as a 71 year old and it's hard. He would probably be the same with a touch more grey hair and another line or two of wisdom etched in his face. It's hard to imagine how everyone else viewed him, because my perspective, as his son, is a bit skewed. In my eyes he was the center of the world. He may not have always been politcally correct, but he had a presence and confidence that made me strive to be just like him. Even though he would support me in my choices, I still felt an intense need to have his approval on my life's decisions. When he died, I felt lost for a while, wondering who I would seek out to approve my life. I realized that I didn't have to search any further than my mirror. His death, as devestating as it was for me, also set me free to grow up and step out from his shadow. I still miss him with every ounce of being and can still feel his warmth and presence, but I am a stronger man in his absence. Now I look at my son and see those big eyes looking up at me with the same awe I had for my Dad. It's then that I realize my Dad isn't gone at all. Happy Birthday Dad. I love you.
