Today is my Dad's birthday - he would have turned 65 today! He died in 1997, when he was only 56 years old.

My parents divorced when I was 14. Dad moved out of our house (I didn't even know what was going on - I thought he was leaving to get the paper) and moved in with Susan, who eventually became my step-mother. She lived in town, and we lived only about three miles away. In my memory, I see his car pulling out of our driveway the morning he left, but I'm not sure if that's how it really happened. I may have still been asleep.

I didn't see my father for six months after that, which considering the fact that we lived three miles apart seemed strange. My brother, Jason, saw him all the time and thought that Dad was too ashamed to see me.

I had a job when I was 14 - I cleaned two Doctors' offices at night after they closed. One night I was cleaning one of the bathrooms in the Dentist's office, and I turned around and Jason was standing there (he dropped by often, even though he was 19 at the time and living away from home). He said, "I brought someone to see you!" He looked so excited and relieved. We walked outside the front door and Dad was standing there. He looked embarrassed, and for the first time I could remember, genuinely glad to see me. He looked like a little boy. I was surprised by how happy I was to see him. I ran to him. He had a bag from Brookes Pharmacy. He said "I brought a little something for you." It was a 5 Star notebook and a package of pens. That memory kills me...and imagining him standing in the aisle trying to pick something for me makes me want to sob and makes me miss him like crazy. That's the memory I come back to the most.

When Jason died, Dad and I became very close in our sadness. A lot of it was unspoken, since Susan really forbid him to talk about anything having to do with his son. We both felt the bond, though, and it began a time of very prolific letter writing between us. I will always be thankful for that. He was a great and expressive writer and I cherish the stories and letters I have from him.

I was telling a friend the other day that it still hasn't hit me that I will never see my father again. It's been nine years! I was in Island Pond (the tiny town in Vermont where Dad grew up) with Ashley during our honeymoon, and as we were walking down the street and I saw my father - standing just like him, smoking just like him. My mind still won't tell me he's gone, even though I stood next to him as he died.

I sure miss him today - St. Patrick's Day, his birthday (perfect). Have a beer in his honor!