The Power of Death

On this day 85 years ago, my father was born. For the past 19.5 years, he has been gone.

Death has a double-sided power. It had the power to bring me to my knees with depression. It had the power to make me question why other people got their dads longer, why other kids besides mine had grandfathers, why other people with aneurysms lived, why my parents had to be separated when they finally were approaching the time in their lives where they could retire and take the trips he had planned.

Death's flipside is a touch more positive. I am more apt to savor moments. Realizing that no one's next breath is guaranteed allows me to seize the day a bit more than I used to. Granted, it's not all sunshine and roses. I forget. I get pissed over stupid things. I try to control things for reasons that would fill a book. Ultimately, the losses that both my husband and I have endured have strengthened us. We have the blessing of knowing that with God, we can endure what feels like our guts being ripped through our belly buttons. You can, indeed, live through losses. But you never get over them. I liken it to when your car gets in an accident. You get it fixed, and it looks fine, but there's always something a little off.

So, happy 85th Birthday, Daddy. You are missed today. You are missed every day. Thank God, it won't be forever. But twenty years sure feels like that.