Today would have been my father's eighty-fourth birthday. He passed away twenty-three years ago at the age of sixty-one; one year younger than I am right now. I still miss him, although not quite as painfully because the years have healed the hurt, but there will always be a hole in my heart that his love used to fill.
For so many reasons, I wish he was here today. Mainly, so I could tell him all the things I didn't have a chance to before he died. I'd like him to meet my 'new' husband, know my grandson, and see how his grandsons grew up to be fine men. I'd like to spend just one more day with him so I could tell him what a great father he was and how being his daughter has shaped my life in so many positive ways. I see his influence in my children and I'm proud that his traits will carry on. I know he felt he was a failure when he died because society was so tough on him, but in the minds of all four of his children, there isn't a better father to be had than ours. I'm thankful every day for the time I had him in my life.