Word of the week - Dad

It was my father's birthday on Monday.

He would've been 87.

I can't comprehend my father being 87 as he died aged 77, 2 months short of his birthday.

This is the 10th birthday I haven't been able to buy him a card or a gift or visit him.

Not a day goes past where he's not talked about or thought about.

At the football. When I talk to or see the grandchildren. When I sit at his desk in our home. When I go up into the loft room and see the piles of stuff I still have to sort through or when I use one of the stamps from his collection on an envelope. 

Our home and travels and lives are full of memories of my father.

Of course I miss him and there are so many things I still want to tell him and still want to ask him.

But I'm at peace with that now. I was at peace with that when he died. We'd had a good few days. We'd had a good afternoon the day he'd died. 

I was with him when he died. He's still with me now.