11 May 2011
Today would have been my dad's birthday. This is the first of his birthdays we have to celebrate without him.
My dad was born 3 days after VE day in Berlin in 1945. My grandma had to feed him soup made from grass. He always had an issue with me not finishing my food when I was little. My dad was a great doctor. In all the 31 years I got to spend with him he never once failed to fake enthusiasm at the terrible gifts he received for his birthday. Even the bizarre Irish wax cloth golf hat I gave him, and the entirely useless Chinese back massager last year. My dad could speak old Greek and in the days before he died we sat on his bed and listened to the Iliad on audiotape. As much as I'd much rather have him here with me, I hope the sun is shining wherever he is celebrating his birthday today.