Something I wrote awhile back - A birthday present

I was cleaning out the storage pantry in the garage. There was some sort of odd peace in doing that. Alone in the room full of shelves, going through old dishes and canning supplies. Giving them order.

It was the day before your birthday. I was feeling that blunt edge of mourning, that kind that happens after you are over the initial shock but it instead of cutting you quickly, it lingers and takes its time. Your first birthday in my life where I wouldn't hear your laughter, or that teasing way you opened presents so slowly that the kids would shout at you to hurry up so they could eat ice cream cake. I wouldn't kiss your stubbly cheek and inhale that scent that was so uniquely you, a mixture of wood and Old Spice and the fresh scent of masculinity that I grew up with.

I wouldn't be able to look in your green, green eyes and tell you thank you, I love you, you're the best Daddy a girl could ever hope for.

I wasn't going to have you this year. All the other milestones I've already made it past seemed to somehow pale in comparison to your birthday. I suppose, in retrospect, it is because this was the one day of the year that was solely yours. You didn't share it with all the other fathers of the world. It was just for you, Dad.

The tears started rolling. Freed by the lack of little eyes watching my face, freed from the feeling that I had to be strong for anyone. I missed you so much in that minute that the pain seemed overwhelming.

Shaking my head, I lifted the box of canning jars to move them to their new home. Underneath the box I noticed something sticking out. A card...and so I picked it up.
It was a birthday card. From me to you, Dad. One I'd written to you when I was 24 years old, full of laughter and praises for my cowboy. My pops.

Of all the places in the world to find a card that old the day before your birthday, you found a way to put it in my path. To remind me that you'd had so many wonderful birthdays walking this earth.

To remind me... you're still here.

You gave me a gift for your birthday this year, Daddy. One I will always remember.
I set it on the little altar I made for you next to the picture of you smiling in your cowboy hat.

I love you Daddy. And I miss you so very much.