My Dad, standing on the right, circa 1938
Well, another July 9th has rolled around and once more I quietly remember my father’s birthday. Today he would have turned 75 years old.
I miss him.
Alot.
“It was on my fifth birthday that Papa put his hand on my shoulder and said, ‘Remember, my son, if you ever need a helping hand, you’ll find one at the end of your arm.’”- Sam Levenson
Posted from iPhone
Posted by Michael on July 9, 2009 at 10:20 am
My father would be 76 years old this year had he not smoked and partied himself to an early grave. I miss him, too. With my mother’s death this year, I am now an orphan. Of course, Linda tells me you can’t be an orphan if you’re an adult when your parents die. I disagree.
Be well. Live well.
I’m right there with you, my brother. And, at the risk of incurring the wrath of Linda, I agree with you. While my dictionary defines orphan as “a child who has lost both parents through death”, it also defines child as “a person between birth and full growth.” I can’t speak for you, my friend, but I’m definitely not ever going to be full grown… I’m just sayin’…
God bless!
Posted by thecanvasgrey on July 9, 2009 at 12:47 pm
Thinking about you because I know how this is…especially when we’ve been so blessed with really great Dads. Thank God we have the good, good memories of that, as you said in your tweet! Hugs!
Deb
Thank you, my friend. Good memories, indeed.
Posted by waven on July 9, 2009 at 1:07 pm
I’m so glad I’m getting to spend more time with mine. I’m trying not to take this time for granted.
Time is the very most valuable thing we can give to each other. Better than an Aqua Velva gift pack any day of the week!
Posted by firefly on July 10, 2009 at 3:51 pm
“If I be the first of us to die,
Let grief not blacken long your sky.
Be bold yet modest in your grieving.
There is a change but not a leaving.
For just as death is part of life,
The dead live on forever in the living.
And all the gathered riches of our journey,
The moments shared, the mysteries explored,
The steady layering of intimacy stored,
The things that made us laugh or weep or sing,
The joy of sunlit snow or first unfurling of the spring,
The wordless language of look and touch,
The knowing,
Each giving and each taking,
These are not flowers that fade,
Nor trees that fall and crumble,
Nor are they stone,
For even stone cannot the wind and rain withstand
And mighty mountain peaks in time reduce to sand.
What we were, we are.
What we had, we have.
A conjoined past imperishably present.
So when you walk the wood where once we walked together
And scan in vain the dappled bank beside you for my shadow,
Or pause where we always did upon the hill to gaze across the land,
And spotting something, reach by habit for my hand,
And finding none, feel sorrow start to steal upon you,
Be still.
Close your eyes.
Breathe.
Listen for my footfall in your heart.
I am not gone but merely walk within you.”
- Nicholas Evans
…sorry this was so long, but I really like it.
Your Dad…my Mom…they walk within us
Thank you, my dear friend… that was beautiful. *hug*
Posted by susanne430 on July 11, 2009 at 4:53 pm
Sweet post about your father.
Thank you…