For many years, I couldn’t remember if his birthday was May 4th or May 5th so I would call him on May 4th and feel it out. I mean, I couldn’t ask! Eventually, I figured it out.

He would have been 64 today.

So, Happy Birthday, pop. I miss you greatly. You died just before your 59th birthday. This is the sixth year I haven’t been able to do the birthday dance with you.

We used to sing together. Sort of. He had a terrible voice and knew it. So we would caterwaul together. He especially liked to destroy, er, sing Beatles songs and this was one of our favorites to sing together.

Here’s a song for you, dad.

April 9, 2011

Parents seem like such a static thing in your life. As sure as the sun will rise in the morning (sorry for the clichéd saying. It’s too early on a Saturday morning.), your parents will be there to annoy you, love you, support or chastise you. But they will be there. Even if you have a rocky relationship with them, their presence is a constant running process behind the other noise in your mind. On some level we all understand that we are mortal, that someday we will die, but like most things to us dumb humans – until we experience it, it isn’t really real (pardon me, Emilio).

So what happens when one of them disappears from this world? The static suddenly unhinges and while the sun continues to rise, it’s luster has changed. Static becomes malleable and you are forced to face your own mortality.

Today is the fifth anniversary of my dads death. Today, there was no visible sun rise – it is raining in the desert. A fitting weather for my mood.

I have to go now. Maybe I will write more later today.

April is the month of my birthday. It is also the month of Passover and it is also the month my dad died.  Now, he will always be 58, but I will keep getting older. At some point, I will be his age. I will be 58 years old. That gets to me.

April is no longer just a celebration happy happy time of my birthday or the gathering that was my father’s favorite holiday. He died just before Passover, so that holiday is now linked with him. My birthday marker is now inextricably tied with my dad’s death day.