You would have been forty-five. We used to talk about how old forty-five seemed when we were in our twenties. You dreamed or hoped you would have children by then, I was not so sure. You used to tell me forty-five was half of your life, I had no idea that forty-five would be longer than. Your face would wrinkle with laughter when you thought of your crimson beard turning white at the age of forty-five. You would make our children giggle with the thought that daddy will look like Santa some day. How I wish I could see you now, be with you at this age that seemed to mean so much to you.
It seems the anticipation of your birthday is more heart wrenching than the actually day itself. Our kids want an ice cream cake to celebrate, it’s almost as if they are fixed at a specific age that remind them of you. Never wanting to disappoint, ice cream cake it is, however I get to pick the flavor, just like I always did on your birthday. That was the kind of man you were, you let your wife pick her favorite cake for your birthday. This year I am going with a vanilla cake and possibly a chocolate ice cream, I have yet to decide.
I guard your legacy now like I am guarding Fort Knox, carefully inspecting anyone that wants entrance. Checking to make sure they have the proper pedigree, the proper knowledge of the kind of man you were. Needless to say entrance to you is rare.
The kids and I are spectacular, considering you once did almost everything for us, I can now even cook a balanced dinner and tell you how much said dinner cost per person. My average cost per meal is around $9.25 a person. I know that is a bit high for your standard but give me a break, I am a widow. We miss you terribly and we know that you are around, we see and hear signs almost everyday, you tricky bastard. You know how I feel about you but just in case you don’t, you are kinda alright, for a red head.