30 Years

My father died of a massive heart attack 30 years ago today.

And every year I mark it on my "mental" calendar.

So I woke up feeling a little down today because I'm "supposed to." You know, supposed to say, oh this is the day... that happened... I was 3... I miss him, you know, the regular stuff.

Got Alexis and brought her into the living room to feed her, and afterwards she fell asleep on me and I just sat there holding her. All of a sudden, I realized I was OK. And I'm tired of thinking I'm "supposed to" feel a certain way or that I "have to" go to the cemetery all the time, or "need to" do or feel anything else. It doesn't really honor him.

I'd like to think he just wants me to be happy. And that maybe, just maybe, I've made him proud. I've made my mistakes along the way, but I think I've done pretty darn good.

So, here's to you Daddy. I hope you're pleased too.

(BTW - of course that is a SERIOUSLY old picture, but it's my favorite one. I think he was about 15 or so in that pic, sporting his Easter suit. And, if you look closely, you can see why Deuce has such ridiculously large hands - it's genetic!)