94 is a very big number. There are a lot of decades behind it, if it is in years.
Almost 10, even.
Next week, my age will be half of 94, and that in itself seems like a lot of numbers.
47, even.
Maybe my nostalgia today isn’t in 94. I mean, it’s not like my dad lived to his 94th birthday… today. Maybe my melancholy lies in the fact that my dad was 47 when I was born. The years before 47 teach you quite a bit. I guess they taught my dad he wanted me. I hope so. Either that, or after me, he was like,

I. Can. NOT. Do. THIS.
Again.

I prefer to think his feelings were more about not being able to again create someone he would fall so hard for. His baby girl. He wasn’t always there. He wasn’t always great when he was there. I’m certain I was worse. But I never doubted he loved me, and that I was his baby girl. And the days we had together when I was little, in my mind… were perfect.

Something that the doctors thought literally broke his heart, was when mine was broken. I wish he could peak inside my heart now. He would see Mr. Matrimony there, and my dad’s own heart would have been healed. His words of White steam cars, and how they move, would have no better landing spot that my son’s eager ears. I think that is probably what I long for most when I think of Dad. I wish my son could come home from visiting “Cap’n”. Mr. Awesome would smell of kerosene and cigars. He’d have even more stories to share with me. He would have loved my dad. Dad would love his grandson too. They’d probably be the best of buddies. With his mind aging, Dad could lean on my son’s explanations of things. They would teach each other.

My Dad, brother, and I…. circa 1973

Sometimes the things we miss the most are the things we never experienced.

Make sure you are savoring every good thing you do experience, so you will miss them when they’re gone.

Happy Birthday Daddy <3