For weeks now–a couple of ’em, at least–I’ve had intentions of making a post here, this day.

Today would’ve been Dad’s 76th birthday.

It IS the 76th anniversary of his birth.

And me?

I’m utterly drained and exhausted, frustrated and discouraged and irritable due to other stuff going on.

And now as I sit here typing, I’m fighting the stupid tears, and I don’t know how much of it is missing Dad, or utter frustration at the day, the relief of being off the road after five days of 120-miles-per-day commuting, or amazement that I’ve “survived” 5 days of being gone from the house about 12 hours at a time, away from Lucy and Daisey and Mom…

Dad, I know you’d be disappointed at my attitude and mood and all this.

Maybe at ME myself for the likely ventage and complaining and all that that you’d’ve been listening to outta me this week; surely ALSO at this situation and that things are NOT what any of us were hoping; let alone that I’d be this huge freaking DRAIN and raincloud on the parade of what SHOULD BE a celebratory day of you. WITH you.

Five years ago, you said it was the best birthday ever; getting out to (Texas Roadhouse?) with me and Mom; the three of us. Coming home to Daisey, Chloe, and Sarah.

etc.

Now you’re gone. Chloe’s gone. Sarah’s gone.

The job I’d had is gone.

Everything that life WAS, back then, is gone.