Mopey Musings on My Dead Father’s Birthday

My father would have been 76 today, except that he died two years and one day ago. Being from Philadelphia, silly as it is, I would have celebrated his 76th as an extra-special birthday.

Mourning and grief are reasonable. Mourning and grief are irrational. I make decisions to feel and behave a certain way, but I still find tears in my eyes during Johnny Cash songs in the car. We would sing along to a Greatest Hits cassette in the kitchen when I was a kid. Why didn’t I ever accept his invitations to go to Chi-Chi’s for karaoke?

The word “adrift” best sums up the feeling bubbling and darting behind my busy thoughts this week. “Mopey” and “self-reflective” sum up my recent state.

But I go on.

Dad and kids 1985My dad with my siblings and 5-year-old me, smiling on the right.
(Another family picture here.)