My dad would have been 63 today. I miss him every day. I suppose his birthday would be difficult under any circumstances, but it's slightly harder because his birthday (his 57th) was when we had our last coherent conversation. He died 22 days later.
I hate the fact that he won't get to see my boys grow up. He would have gotten a kick out their little mechanical minds. I don't yet know if I'll ever forgive him for cheating us out of all of these years we should have had, but I've at least learned to let myself off the hook for it.
I like to believe things happen for a reason. That something good must have come out of his death...so far I guess I just haven't seen anything good enough.
Happy birthday, daddy.