Yet, he is not here. The man who would have loved to play with my children at the park. He would have loved the story I posted on the blog about my children*:
The moving van that arrived at the house in Charlottesville dwarfed the driveway and the garage next to which it was parked. The boy in Finwe became excited to view a truck that large that closely. I believe his boyhood was challenged.
"Wanna go pee on the wheel."
I shook my head like a cartoon character and leaned in closer, sure I had misheard him. "What do you want to do?"
He stopped, turning in the direction of the tractor-trailer's rear. "Wanna go pee on the wheel."
We would have spent hours on the beach gathering shells washed onto shore by the waves. There would be no left-overs of freshly fried shrimp. He would be here, helping us finish the bottle of champagne we opened to celebrate what would be his 63rd birthday. Hell, we would have had another bottle opened already. The atmosphere would exude gaiety.
Instead, we quietly salute the man who made us all happy and believe that we could go further than we imagined.
He is not here.
*It's a private blog. You'll have to email if you want an invitation.