Because Birthday Parties Should Kick Ass in Heavan

I'm trying to figure out what I would have gotten you for your birthday today. Always so hard to shop for. I'm betting Buttercup would have picked out something pink and then had the good grace to feign surprise when you gifted it back to her.

Maybe a new barbeque grill. I'm betting you'd still be using the same one you had four years ago and a new one, just like the one I bought The Husband for his birthday next week, would have guaranteed a happily matched pissing contest between the two of you. You had the same watch. Most of the same tools. A matching grill and I'd have been a hero in the eyes of my husband and in yours, too.

I still have your number saved in my phone. The jewelry mom gave me gets taken out every now and then when I'm feeling wistful.

But I'm starting to forget a little. If mom hadn't sent me a text message this morning telling me what day it was, I'd have woken up tomorrow still holding on to that nagging feeling that I forgot to acknowledge something important. That means Guelo's birthday is in three days. The Husband's three days after that.

I miss the shared birthday cake with the names of all my men written atop it in sugary gel. And your voice. Because that's starting to fade from my memory, too.

You would have been 54 today, Dad. I miss you. Hope you're having a hell of a celebration up there in the clouds.