My Dad Would Have Been 91

Today would have been my Dad’s 91st birthday.

I don’t know that I miss him any more today than I did yesterday, or will tomorrow.  In some ways I was missing him more and more in the months before he died as his dementia grew worse, and his mind, experiences, and wisdom were increasingly diminished.

I certainly don’t wish him back.  To know that he, with my mother, is whole now in a way we cannot imagine is a great comfort.  Maybe I’d feel differently if he’d died in his “prime,” or when he was still “sharp” and “able.”

He told me one Memorial Day about ten years ago that after sitting through a presentation about World War II and what some call the “Greatest Generation,” that he realized he had a great deal for which to be thankful, and that God had really blessed him.  And then he listed some of those blessings: surviving more than three years in the Army in North Africa and Italy during World War II; marrying the “love of his life;” four sons he was proud of and our families: a good education and meaningful work; and to that point reasonably good health, and a wonderful retirement.

That really gave me something to think about, and helped me recognize how blessed I have been and continue to be.  And it helps me remain aware of how blessed I am to have had the Dad and Mom that I did.