Happy Birthday Dad! I miss you.

I'm not sure why I'm doing this. Today is your birthday and I am really feeling sad and empty and missing you bad. This is your first birthday "away." I'm not sure if they have Internet access wherever you are, but if you can read this just know that you're in my thoughts and always will be. If there is a heaven I know you're there. But I don't think there is a heaven. And that's the hard part. Thinking you're gone forever is a horribly sad thought.

We spent 7 days a week together for so many years. And I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Any excuse we could come up with to hang out and just talk and be together. We were best friends.

I miss watching our HBO specials together every Sunday night.

I miss driving with you in your car...no destination in mind.

I miss talking to you about religion and politics.

I miss going to the Crab Shack and eating a ton of stone crabs together.

I miss hearing about all your experiences as a child.

I miss going camping where we sat around the campfire and just talked all night.

I miss talking to you about BookTalk - the good and bad aspects.

I miss your advice and fatherly suggestions.

I miss your stupid jokes.

I miss having you there to laugh at my stupid jokes.

I miss all our dreaming we did together, like wanting to go to Ireland and see the "motherland" together. Damn I wish we had been able to do that.

I miss everything about you. Nobody knows how close we were and how your death has impacted me. I keep it pretty hidden. But I am so fucking sad right now. I can hardly type this.

I feel mad at you a little. Why did you keep smoking when it was clear you were getting sicker and sicker from it? We all tried so hard to get you to stop. But you kept at it year after year and pack after pack.

Today would be your 70th birthday. I want to spend it with you. I want to celebrate your life with you. But you're gone. It's over. Forever. And I don't like this.

You will never meet my children. No, Tina's not pregnant yet. We're trying. But I wanted you to hold your granddaughter or grandson. I so wish they got to meet you. I have lots of photos and videos, but they'll never have the opportunity to call you grandpa or papa or anything. I feel so damn robbed. They were robbed. You were robbed.

No, I'm not mad at you though. That's stupid. Smoking is addictive and everyone that smoked had a hard time stopping. It's not your fault. I'm lucky to have never tried smoking in the first place. Heck, I can't stop eating bad foods so I'm overweight. How can I blame you for smoking when I can't break the habit of eating the wrong foods.

I just miss you and want you in my life. I want to be there for you too. We were best friends and inseparable. But now we're separated. Forever. I don't even know what the hell I'm doing typing this in your blog. Nobody reads this and never will. But it feels good to tell you I love you once again. That I miss you. That I wish we were together for your birthday. Mark and I joked last night about wanting to get your urn out of the niche and bring it to his house or to mine. We don't like you being all alone there at the cemetery. There is a nice spot right here on top of my bookshelves - YOUR bookshelves. I feel that you belong here with me. I guess that's weird for me to think about such a morbid subject. It would just feel good looking up at the urn and thinking you're close by. I'll get over that in time I suppose.

I guess I should get to work now. I have so much I want to talk to you about. Not having you as a sounding board is hard. I sure hope there is an afterlife and you're somewhere peaceful and happy right now. If there is I know you earned a ticket to get in. You weren't a perfect father, but you made up for your earlier mistakes 10x over. Few people know how good of a man and father you became. But I know. And if there is some sort of cosmic superhero out there he or she knows too.

I guess I should delete this blog. Maybe not. Happy Birthday dad. I love you.