A tiny flame burning...

I wonder how many people remember today is Greg's birthday. I know I can't count them on one hand, but I suspect I probably could with both hands. Our wonderful friends sent a bouquet of sports cookie flowers( sports! cookies! So Greg!) which was an incredible gesture of warmth, and I've received a few messages, but that's about it. I don't remember most birthdays after the first year someone's gone either (including people I loved very much), so I'm not resentful, but it's like there must be a birthday party happening somewhere- only was I not invited? I'm rather lonely.

Many of the people I'm closest to these days didn't even know my dad. They know about him, or they've seen photos, but they didn't know him, so it's natural that he's less and less a part of my daily life, even as I still think and dream of him often. The St. Patty's day party is precious to me because I know I'll see many of his friends, and I know his name will be said and it won't be because I brought him up first. C and I still talk about him, mostly telling stories that would sound a little dumb to someone who wasn't there, but make for great shared memories. Every year, Greg's death comes out with a new group of students during my "Star of the Week," when they get to ask me questions about my family and someone always always asks, "Where does your dad live?" Of course, he's still in my dreams.

This morning I started to say to an acquaintance, "Today would have been my dad's birthday," but I amended it to say, "Today's my dad's birthday" because technically it IS the anniversary of his birth in the present tense; but then of course I was asked, "Oh! Are you seeing him later?" and I said, "Not likely, he's dead" because it was 7am and I was tired and didn't have it in me to gloss.

So I guess at least THAT poor person knows today is Greg's birthday.

The good side is I think Greg is turning more and more into a glow in my periphery instead of a storm cloud on my horizon, which I appreciate because it's pretty disrespectful to take this person who was present and loving and creative and vivid for over 25 years of my life and reduce him to an excuse for emotional stagnancy under a guise of love. There are thin ribbon scars instead of gaping wet wounds; as it should be. Today's his birthday and I remember, and I'm sad but I'm basically fine. I honor Greg by being a stand up guy as often as I'm able, and by sending him love, and by setting a tiny flame burning on a birthday cookie from his best friend.

Love you, daddio...