Today should have been my Dad's 70th Birthday but thanks to that bastard disease cancer, he's not here to celebrate.
Bless his little cotton socks - cannot for one moment imagine Dad ever being s-e-v-e-n-t-y. I have been thinking about him all day, working out his year of birth, convinced I am wrong - but my maths is correct: he would have had a big load of candles today.
I miss my annual 'surprise' red eye flight up to Edinburgh on the morning of the 2nd March; I miss turning up at his door like an excited five year old with parcels, breakfast rolls and bubbly; I miss him acting surprised and saying "I thought it was a bit bloody early for the postman!"; I miss him giving me such a big bear hug I can't breathe. I really miss him.
I've had an unusual amount of positive news today - nothing definite, nothing guaranteed - but good all the same. I'd like to think that somehow, Dad had a hand in some of that.
Cheers Da-Da. Happy Birthday. x
