Forty-seven
I don’t feel old. I’m sure my kids think I’m ancient but, really, 47 isn’t old. This should be an easy birthday. But it’s not. My dad didn’t seem old either…even to a 17 year old. But 47 years was all he was able to live. It’s unfathomable to imagine not making it to 48. And to only be part of my children’s lives for 17 years. But that’s all he got.
I’ve been thinking of this day all year.
Always a part of me
Earlier this year, a day after my dad would have turned 77, I finally was able to get the tattoo I had been wanting for years. I sent the tattoo artist a photograph of my dad’s writing from one of the few cards I had saved (thank goodness I was a teenager that saved things).
She was able to move the writing all to one line and replicate it perfectly. Down to the period he always used after “Dad.” The placement is also perfect – on the inside of my forearm where I can see it whenever I glance down but not very visible to anyone else. As I told her, this is just for me.
And I guess it’s also for my dad. Because I love you too, Dad.
