As we all know so well, the 4th was always your birthday. Born in Holdenville, OK, among the few of your siblings not born at home in Browns, IL.
I've never been to Holdenville. But it's on the list to go to one day and see.
You died just shy of your 47th birthday.
I'm now past that age by two years. Nathan is the same age you were. We both realized how short that timeframe really is. Neither of us could drink an adult beverage or drive (even as you occasionally let us take a turn steering whatever vehicle we had at the time).
With every milestone or significant family activity, we ask how different it would be if you were alive with us. Beyond the grave awareness or presence is still robed in mysteries to the living. Our personal, or professional achievements? The graduations, marriages, and grandchildren you never met in life? Those grandchildren are now young adults, shaping their life goals and achievements.
Indulging an active imagination, let's celebrate your 80th birthday. It would be a cookout, at 248 E Franklin or some farmhouse you always wanted. I'm sure you would insist on minding the grill, as Mom and daughters-in-law prepared the other dishes. Your sons would join you in adult beverages, chatting over your Michelob Ultra with our chosen beers, spirits, or wine on a porch, deck, or the ever-conversational pit of the garage. Talking about our work, seeking your wise counsel, and you reminding us how great retirement will be. The grandchildren would interrupt, anxious to share their lives with you. And you would let great-grandchildren do whatever they wanted to do with you. You gleam with pride as the center of attention, your laughter filling the yard.
Cake and ice cream (maybe homemade) served. Or is it apple pie? We know that whatever place you lived would have some dwarf apple trees.
Evening comes, and with it the fireworks. You probably share your idea of taking a plane and watching all the towns set off their fireworks at dusk, having that birds-eye view. But whatever local display we would have chosen to go to, a little caravan of cars would travel together to sit under the stars and wait for the spectacle.
The fireworks are completed, and we linger as an extended family trying our best to say our goodbyes but delaying the inevitable, though brief, separation (I can't imagine you not checking in at least weekly by phone or some technology!?). The invitation is always the same: you can stay over if you don't feel like driving at night. Since your birthday falls on a Thursday, most of us would have to say our regret, since we all have to work on Friday. You would remind us that you don't have to work anymore.
Back to the present, I return. While there is an empty chair at every milestone, it reminds me of the precious value of life and living in this place now. Make memories. Have experiences, whether good or bad, as they have the power to form or inform you. Take risks. And as long as we can recall you, you live among us again.
Oh, and we would celebrate Mom's birthday (it's on the 7th) and you would join us in Decatur on the 8th for your grandson's 21st birthday.
