Maybe because it was somewhat expected, or the sheer shock of the holidays coming right on the heels of my dad’s passing, I feel like I got through… reasonably well. There is still the energy drag of that little subroutine in my head that is still constantly processing the loss, though. And reminders still regularly catch me by surprise…

On my drive home, I come to a stop sign and used to have to make a decision. Turn left to go and see Bob (often with his excited granddaughter in tow), or turn right to head home.

Now I’m only turning right – but there is often a longing glance in the opposite direction at his old apartment building in the distance.

We’re still working through some of the stuff from the farm and I came across an old bottle of scotch with a shot or two left in it. We would always bring him out when we were spending the weekend and he would often ask for a taste of it, thinking himself so cheeky that he had broken into my sister’s secret stash.

What he had forgotten was that he was stealing from the bottle that he had set aside years prior for when his brother would swing out from town for a visit in the cool of the afternoon. In honor of his hospitality, his playful irreverence and the strange blessing of forgetfulness, I toasted that good man with the scotch he had left behind.

There are totems and touchstones everywhere. But we are at a big milestone that is making the heaviness return just a bit. And I have to admit that I’m seriously conflicted because it’s such a mix of sorrow and gratitude with which I step into this day.

Some of the favorite people in my life came into the world on March 6th; including one of the men who stood beside me on my wedding day and a cherished friend in our Down syndrome tribe.

It would have been Bob’s 88th birthday today, and he shares the day with some of the most life-giving friends I’ve ever known – the best of them being Jocelyn. For the past ten years, we always made sure to set aside a Sunday to head out to Saline and celebrate the birthdays of my two favorite people.

In the earlier days when he was still on the farm, we’d head out to a favorite restaurant. Later, when he was in assisted living, we would enjoy a quiet lunch together with a dessert of Moose Tracks ice cream. I swear the man ate more ice cream in the last four years of his life than the previous eighty-three (something to be learned there…).

I look at the photos I took of the two of them and see the love and connection that they shared that transcended the years that separated them. Jocelyn really didn’t get a chance to know my mom that well at all, so I count us all very fortunate that she and Bob had the time together.

And now I’m trying hard to stay in the tension of remembering well and acknowledging the emptiness that is still quite real, but not letting it darken the celebration of my most important person. I assume I’ll get the hang of it sooner or later.

So we have dinner planned tonight (no one should have to cook on her birthday) and a couple more celebrations with friends over the next week or so. On this first birthday apart, I’m choosing to toast the one who has gone before and celebrate even more with the ones still in my life.

Happy Birthday, Dad and Jocelyn!