Happy Birthday, Dad

Ruminations on loss and mortality

Yesterday would have been my father’s 74th birthday.

Sadly, he only made it to 62. It’s now been almost 11.5 years since his passing and I really still can’t believe it’s real.

I’m 51 myself and 62 does not seem to be all that far off in the distance; I feel like I’m heading up a slight hill and when I crest it all I will see is old age.

If I am lucky enough to get there.

My father wasn’t.

I joke that I’m old, and in some ways, yes, I am, but in others, not so much. 10-20 years ago 62 seemed so old. Today, it seems far too young.

Happy birthday, dad! I would offer to get a small German chocolate cake to honor you, and though in the last several years I’ve grown to love coconut much more than I did as a kid, I’m still not a fan of said cake, and nor is anyone else in the family.

Maybe I’ll do a shot of good Scotch in your honor, in lieu of the awful Dewar’s you used to drink.

Love you! Miss you!

I always will.

© 2025 Michael A. Diaz