A one way ticket to anywhere

Happy 87th birthday, Dad. Twenty-three years. For a memory-challenged person such as me, I can remember so clearly every detail from the phone call, the wax dummy that lay in your coffin, visitations, funeral, burial, picking up the pieces for mom. Three weeks later I headed home in a world that was lesser. 

I miss over twenty years of graveyard conversations; taking care of the bonsai rhododendron and azalea next to your headstone. Despite the problems, I took care of mom. I was sure you wanted me to.

Four years ago, we put mom next to you. Her spirit died the day you did. I believe she is truly at rest, back to my original mother again.

Of all the crazy things you said or warped ideas you came up with, I decided my favourite: your offer to buy me a ONE-WAY ticket to anywhere in the world I wanted to go. I wonder what you’ve done if I took you up on the offer, asked you to fly me to some place 1/2 way round the globe, like Patagonia or New Zealand?

So, happy birthday. And, no, we will not toast you with a glass of Mateus! A glass of white and red wine but not the Christmas-birthday-Easter-Thanksgiving-Anniversary-World Series-Stanley Cup-First-Lawn-Mowing-Big-Pick-Up-Garbage-Day-whatever-reason-you-could-come-up-with that a bottle of Mateus was needed with supper. Thank goodness, from my perspective, that it was a sorta rosé, close enough to red that I had an excuse to open a bottle of white!

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