A Birthday Memory

Today would have been my father's birthday.

Thursday, it will be six months since we lost him. It seems like he's been gone forever. This past weekend we had a major snowstorm in the Northeast. Blame it on my dad; apparently he still has the power to conjure up a winter storm. It was a running joke within the family that whatever weekend in February we planned to get together to celebrate his birthday, you could count on either a snow storm or ice storm to interfere.

Except last year.

While we would usually get together at my brother and sister-in-laws house for the party, last year we went out for Chinese. Not your local dive, but an upscale restaurant where certain dishes are insanely great and everything is overpriced. A family favorite, though one we don't normally go to as a family. My brother would go there most often, in fact a waiter once thanked him for dining there often enough that he was able to send his son to college. Nice.

Anyway, we all went out for the birthday party last year and if Mother Nature knew it would be his last, she behaved herself. I remember looking at him and thinking this might be his last birthday with us. While he wasn't sick at the time, 87 was a big number and he grew weaker almost in front of your eyes. He had the best time. Sitting between my mother and brother, he tasted everything. He had Peking Duck for the first time and loved it. The wine flowed and the staff brought out their version of an ice cream cake...for my father, it was the gift that kept on giving.

Whether he also felt it would be his last birthday with us, I can't be sure. His eyes filled with tears as he looked over his beloved family with pride, and it did seem like he was taking in the significance of the moment. But then, he always looked at us with pride. While he wasn't the world's most successful man or the most popular, he had a family who adored him.

We still do. Miss you Pops.

Happy Birthday.