Wish You Were Here

Sometimes I miss you so much, it hurts ... like down to the very core of my soul hurts. Especially on days like today. You would have been 98 years old today, Daddy, and I wish you were here. I don't have to tell you that it's also St. Patrick's Day ... did we ever have a birthday party for you that didn't involve shamrocks and green bow ties and leprechauns? Remember your 65th birthday party? When you came walking out of your bedroom dressed from head to toe in green? Mom was so mad at you, Daddy ... green top hat on your head, green dress shirt buttoned all the way up to accommodate the lime green bow tie tied tightly around your neck ... the much too small green sweater vest stretched to the max across your belly, the ugliest green plaid pants ever made sitting snugly on your waist, green socks and shoes covering your feet ... oh, yeah, Mom was madder than a hornet at you that day, Daddy. But all the rest of us ... all the rest of us thought you were hilarious. I wish you were here today, Daddy ... oh how I wish you were here.

It's not just your birthday that makes me wish you were here ... it's that day and all the other days, too. I wish you were here to know my children because I know you'd love them and they would adore you. I wish you were here to help me spoil Coraline and Amelie, though I'm sure Matt and Bec would tell you I do a pretty good job of that all on my own. They are amazing, by the way ... Coraline and Amelie ... I finally understand why you loved your grandchildren the way you did. I wish you were here so that my two little Canadians could know and love you the way their dad did. I wish you were here during the stormy weather, because I was never afraid when you were around, Daddy ... you always had a way of making me feel safe and protected. I wish you were here on the days when I feel so very sad, because the twinkle in your eyes and the love in your heart always lifted my spirits. I wish you were here to tell me everything will be okay. I wish you were here to wrap your arms around me and tell me one of your stories ... one filled to overflowing with truth and hope and lessons for a lifetime. 

I don't ever remember you drinking beer, Daddy, though I do remember your "it's good for my heart, Sam," stash of Jack Daniels you kept in the cabinet downstairs for your little nightcap each evening. If you were here tonight, I'd take you out for a shot or two of Jack to celebrate your 98th birthday ... I'd raise my glass to you, Daddy, and thank you for all you did for me ... I'd raise my glass and thank you for showing me what it means to be a person of honor and integrity ... I'd raise my glass and thank you for loving me unconditionally through thick and thin and everything in between.

Happy birthday, Daddy ... wish you were here.