My birthday is in 4 days. If this were any other year, I would have started my birthday countdown about 2 weeks ago. I would be reminding everyone that the day I was born is quickly approaching. I would probably be telling strangers on the train that the last year of my twenties starts on Monday.
Unfortunately, this isn't any other year. This is the year my dad died less than a month before my birthday. This is the year Greg' mom died just six days before my dad. I won't be scurrying the streets of Cancun once a year with Jeanne anymore. I won't talk to my dad and tell him about the new class I'm taking.
I could barely speak to my dad the last six months of his life anyhow. He would get exacerbated just from speaking sometimes. He would lose his voice after the first few words came out. It's not as if he spoke much to me my entire life, but the things he said always had feeling, I've said this before. He made small talk, but it always included an undertone of pride. "How's the class at Harvard you are taking?" he would ask me. I would correct him and make sure he knew that the class was through the extension school for adults, but that didn't matter to him. He told me how proud he was of me all the time, not always in words, but always through inflection.
Greg has been reflecting on how much he'll miss his talks with his mother. I originally thought to myself that I couldn't miss talks with my dad because we never really talked. I am writing this to remind myself to always remember even if our conversations were short or far apart, they meant something to me and to dad.