June 15th
Today would have been my father's birthday. My brain is in a fog. And I can't remember how old he would have been. Though I never spent his birthday with him, I would always call him and wish him a "Happy Birthday." Sometimes I would even send an occasional card (when we were speaking with one another). Sometimes his birthday would fall on Fathers Day (I can't wait for next Sunday to roll around and I have to deal with all the emotions that day is going to bring up). He would definitely get a phone call when that happened. Even if we were in one of our fights. If you don't understand it by now, me and my father had an extremely rocky relationship. But, we were trying to mend things. Trying to repair things. I have said that more times than I can count during the many years I have been alive. But, for some reason, this last time I actually thought that things were different. When my step-mother left my father, he called me every night. We talked on the phone. I heard him crying. I tried to tell him that he was not a bad person, but he had done some bad or spiteful things. We actually talked. I tried to listen. I knew that he never deserved my ear...but I gave it to him anyway. He needed me. Just like he needed me by his side when he was dying. And, I was there for him. As much as I could be anyway. I guess that's when you know that you have grown up. When you can put aside your anger and just show someone how much you love them even though they have hurt you over and over again.
Today...we would have celebrated his life. I should have stayed home from work today...