Cute Litte Six

"I remember when you were six!
You were such a cute little six! 

Happy Birthday Ninner Baby Heart..."

Every.

Single.

Year.

"Thanks Dad."

It didn't matter where I was in life. Dabbling in the party scene, off at college or deployed with the Army. Dad never fails to sing me happy birthday and tell me how cute I was at the age of six.

Now that I have a six year old daughter I totally get it. There's simple confidence in a little one that is contagious. Their excitement for life just fills a room, and they have so much to share with you. Everything is new, and yet they are starting to understand that they are a part of it all. They can make things happen!

Dad and I? Our relationship isn't one for TV movies. He was a pain and I was a jerk. I was irresponsible and he was batting clean up. We both made mistakes and calculated errors in life. So yeah, looking back. I can see how Dad got stuck on six year old me. I was probably much nicer back then. Definitely less of a hard ass.

Well tomorrow is my birthday. The phone will buzz, ring and ping with Facebook wishes and texts and calls. It will come and go. My kids will make me cards... there will probably be a cake.

I'll tell myself not to wait for it... that one phone call and the overly emotional mushy card with flowers all over it gushing with sentiment and Happy Birthday Daughter, with three little letters on the bottom... Dad - that card and that call won't come.

Dad's gone now, we lost him in January... but in the end I got to do what so many others don't have the chance to do. I got to say goodbye. I got to apologize. I got to forgive.

He's no longer struggling for a breath so he can use it to tell you some long winded story about something I did that was actually my sister (yep, still holding onto that one old man). He's no longer hurting or hungry. I'm no longer angry or frustrated.

They say (whoever the hell they are) that the sorrow of loss will hit different people at different times. That we cope in different ways. Well here's to the pain... you've got to feel it in order to respond and move forward. Dwelling in sorrow will not honor those who've gone before. 

On the outside I'm turning 36 and need a glass of wine... on the inside, I'm just a little six... who's missing her Dad.

I miss you Old Fart, Love Ninner.