All my love, always...

Today isn't my birthday. For that matter, neither is tomorrow. But, if you asked my Dad, he would have told you that technically, on a year that isn't a Leap Year, it should be celebrated on March 1. So, for each year over the past 29 years that wasn't a Leap Year, my Dad would tell me on the morning of the 28th that I should have a great day but, technically, it wasn't my birthday. It wasn't until the morning of the first that I'd receive that happy birthday from him. His jovial, booming voice saying "Happy Birthday Tush Tush" (an embarrassing nickname that no one else was - or is - allowed to call me).

Either way, the 28th or the first, birthday or not, today just doesn't feel the same without him.

About a week after I returned home from Las Vegas in September - the hardest trip of my life - I was rummaging through my things as I was moving and stumbled upon my birthday card from last year from him. And it gave me the chills. Just a few words to "carry in my heart." It's almost as though he placed the card there for me to find it. It's served as the background on my phone for the last several months - both as a reminder that I had the most incredible dad anyone could ever ask for but also because I love seeing his writing. "All my love, always, Dad."

Well, Dad, today may be my "sort of kind of birthday" but, today, - just like every other day - I have an emptiness in my heart. I miss you. I love you. And I wish you were here to celebrate this birthday and the next 30.

A Heart Shaped Box

I wanted to send you flowers today, but I wasn't sure if it would help or just make it hurt more.

I thought about going to pick out some chocolates, placing them in a heart-shaped box and have them sitting on your counter next to a beautiful bouquet of flowers, but I'm not him, so I can't remember the flowers you like or all of your favorite chocolates.

I wanted to be closer to you today (and every day)so that I could give you a hug and let you know just how much I knew he loved you. To let you know that I can't imagine the hurt and the pain you are going through today and every day. To let you know that I love you and I'd take all of that pain away and make it better, if I could.

Today, Mom, I just want to say that you are an amazing person who was loved so much by an incredible man and, while we all miss him, I know that he was your best friend, your partner, your "babe" and I hope that his love continues to live inside of you each day, helping you to get through this. To stay strong.

I love you, Mom.

Today

Today, is Super Bowl Sunday.

A day my dad held in high regard. A day that my dad never minded working because I'm sure watching the game in the midst of a VIP casino party was far better than trying to watch the game at home with three daughters.

And, as Peyton gets ready for another Super Bowl appearance, I know that, today, my dad and I would be debating the "better Manning," sitting around eating the best cured meats (cold cuts), imported cheese and a bevy of other antipasti (ant-eh-pahst).

He'd be telling stories about MetLife stadium, before it was owned by the insurance giant, and how it only cost [insert ridiculous low price here] to get into the game.

He and my husband, Kyle, would be discussing statistics, recalling past championship games and, every hour or so, he'd tell me how great my sauce smelt.

It would be a great day.

An average day in my life - spending time with the greatest man, in my eyes, to have walked this earth but one that I'm sure, then, I took for granted, one that, now, I would give anything to have back.

So today, I'm sad.

Today, I'm angry.

Today, I miss him more.