Happy birthday, Dad

Birthdays are supposed to be fun, light events, which is hard when we miss those who are no longer living. He was born February 20, 1941. And he was tragically killed just thirty short years later. Taken too soon, you hear people say about those who die young. I was just two years old when it happened. He loved me madly, I’m told. 

He died before I was old enough to have memories of him. I don’t know what his voice sounded like. I don’t know what it feels like to be enveloped in a hug that only fathers can give their little girls. So many “nevers” are attached to him. Jake. My dad.

I was his only daughter, his only child. When my parents split, before he died, he fought for custody – something unheard of so many decades ago. It must have been such a painful time but somehow knowing how desperately he wanted to raise me brings some comfort. Given how little time he had left on this earth, I wish he had been granted it.

Life is complicated, whether you live for a long time or not. Hug your kids, even if they’re too young to remember.

Happy birthday, Dad.



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