This day thirty-one years ago my dad suffered a massive heart attack and died four hours later. He was 68 years old, and left a void in my life that seems to grow larger rather than to diminish as the years go by. He didn't have an easy life but he celebrated everything he had, in fact, I'd say he was the ultimate celebrator--birthdays, Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, anniversaries, his vacation, my promotions at work, one of his kids coming home from school with a good report card--you name it.
As I mentioned in a previous post I have never liked to celebrate my birthday, except for when I became 16 and then again at 21. But my dad wouldn't let anyone get away without a big birthday celebration, and to this day I still get melancholy on my birthday just wishing he was here to remind me of it.
He was an eternal optimist, and I think I picked up most of those genes, except for the birthday part, and the fact that I no longer celebrate any of the holidays. When I'm around my kids at Christmas I will try to pretend just for them, but my heart is no longer in it and I haven't believed in years. Maybe my dad would be disappointed in that fact, but I think he wouldn't be as judgmental as most folks are.
So today I will fondly remember my dad while missing him like crazy, and look forward to my baby's birthday tomorrow - he will be 32 years old. It's good thing he was too young to realize that his grandpa totally messed up the celebration of his 1st!
Love ya, Arthur Charles Federle, 1910-1978
OLD IS NEW AGAIN
10 hours ago