Today is my father's birthday. He would've been 76.
This past week I've been trying to think of something to do that my dad would've enjoyed. I considered taking the family to a baseball game, but the timing didn't work out.
So I didn't have anything special planned for today - which was good, because it was non-stop from the moment the alarm went off at 5 a.m. That's not entirely true. When the alarm went off, it took me three minutes to decide to actually get out of bed.
Then I was off to the gym, then right to physical therapy, then home to get the kids ready. I dropped Sawyer off a preschool, took Sage to Target and then to her gymnastics class, then raced back home so David could go pick up Sawyer. Meanwhile, I got lunch ready.
After Sage went down for her nap, Sawyer demanded I play with all the new bubble blowers I got him, even though it was chilly and damp out.
Soon it was mid-afternoon. We headed up the street to play with the twins and there was a table set up in their driveway for a cinco de mayo party. The neighbors started wandering by and the twins' grandparents arrived.
The grandfather, D, is almost 70. He's very active and, of course, loves playing with his very active grandsons. He ran after baseballs that rolled down the street. He crawled halfway under a pickup truck to retrieve another one.
He helped one of the twins with his fielding skills.
He sat the younger brother on his knee.
He, simply, was being a grandpa.
Something my dad never had the chance to do.
It makes me tremendously sad. And envious, too. What a time my father is missing out on, the kind of joy that comes only from the laugh of a child. A grandchild.
Happy birthday, Dad.
I miss you. We miss you.
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