Sixty One

We use a lot of numbers, us humans, to quantify things. One of those things is age. Today my dad would have turned 61 years old. But that number – 61 – means very little. The fact that his birthday would have been today doesn’t bring him back. The fact that it is his birthday doesn’t mean that those of us who miss him will remember him any better, or miss him any more than yesterday. It’s just a number.

But mostly, ages, and dates, and numbers, mean little, because you don’t measure someone’s impact by the age they survived to. You measure someone by the people they reached. The people they helped, the people they inspired, the people who felt their warm embrace. The people who now,  today, feel lucky to have ever known them.

They say that you are never really truly dead until the last person to remember you is dead. Well, that’s BS of course – my dad is truly dead. But I get the sentiment. His actions live on in me and those that he had an impact on during his relatively short life. And for a while yet, dad won’t be forgotten.

RIP Dad.

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