Today is my father’s birthday. I spoke to Margie Mom last night and she reminded me of the day that she and my father got married. It was a truly magical, eclectic affair. The bride wore pink. The groom tried to pretend he wasn’t weeping. Yes, it was the 80s. I’ll see if I can dig up a picture of me in the blue/hot pink changeable taffeta strapless thing I wore. Heh. It was *awesome*.
Aren’t they beautiful together? Gods, they were so young. I am literally the same age that my father is in this photo.
Have another gorgeous photo of the two of them and my personal favorite. I did, after all, take both photos.
I’ve probably posted it before. I don’t care.
I am missing him (and Margie Mom who is in Australia right now) very much this year. Building out the shop space and working with my hands has brought so many things up and I simultaneously ache with missing him and yet feel him very close. The ghost of his smile and his laughter caught at the edge of my sight and hearing.
He’s still with me. Just not close enough to touch.
It’s okay and it’s not okay simultaneously.
I miss you, Poppa Bear.