50

My father would have turned 50 today.

50, it's hard to even imagine. He would have been half a century old. I used to tease him about how close 50 was and he told me that age was just a number and that he didn't mind being numberically old, as long as he never got emotionally old.

Besides, he figured 50 would be a pretty good excuse for a party, so he intended to have a big one. It would have been a blast, but then most things concerning my father are.

It's hard to sit here on his birthday and know I won't see him, won't talk to him. It's his birthday, but he's not here. He'll never celebrate another year of life. He won't grow any older.

Every year, we did something as a family. Usually we had steak (Daddy's favourite) and all the trimmings and I made a cherry chip cake (agian, his favouite). Every year, it was always cherry chip, nothing else.

My father would spend some time with his father on his birthday, since they shared a birthday. My grandfather turns 96 today. And Daddy would definitly spend time with his friends, but his birthday was usually about the three of us. Lots of important things were.

I want so desperately to be baking that cherry chip cake I'll never bake again. I just want to believe that when I go home this afternoon, he'll be there and we'll celebrate his birthday, but we all know that's not true. He's not there and he never will be again.

But, he would have been 50.