I've never been a big fan of "celebrating" birthdays after a person dies. I'm keen on remembering the celebrant, but not so much on making it a joyous occasion. As a society, we continue acknowledging the birthdays of famous or notable people long after they are gone. There's MLK Day, George Washington's Birthday, Lincoln's Birthday, Casimir Pulaski Day.
Today would have been my father's 71st birthday. I can't believe it has been three years. We're not singing songs today. We're not opening presents. We ate leftovers for dinner, and had to blow a half foot of snow from our driveway. It's been a gray day, an average day, a sad day.
I don't feel like I have to go to the cemetery to acknowledge my father's existence. I'm like him that way. I'm not sure he ever visited his father's grave after he died. At least, not that I know of anyway.
I've thought of my dad often today; probably not any less than I do any other. I refuse to say "Happy Birthday, Dad," so I'll just say, "we miss you."
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