It was a story that he would tell every year without fail – a missive that he would seldom get through without laughter and nostalgia colliding with him.
Every year on my birthday, my Father would regale me with the story of my birth and 2019 marks the first time – that I will never hear that story from his lips again.
My Father now resides on a higher state of grace, but the reality of him being far away from this invective filled planet that we share, is bittersweet at best – as selfishness continously pulls me into the void of my sorrows.
“Son, it was beautiful, it was a bright sunny day out… And your Momma.”
He would begin.
The day that I was born filled him a renewed sense of duty and I could always discern that in the tone of his voice – always listening silently as if it were my first time hearing it.
My mother was assured that I would be a girl, but as fate would have it, I turned out to be the youngest son…
Over the course of the month, I had to take the necessary steps of reminding myself not to expect a call that would not come – a process more difficult than advertised.
This birthday, represents another benchmark in the unenviable path that I’m compelled to travel without my Father.
Knowing that I’ll never be okay is disconcerting, but knowing that I will persevere is redemptive.
As I hold his mandate to “keep the faith” close to my heart.
Copyright © 2019 ShunPwrites. All Rights Reserved