Monday, November 26, 2012

Happy Birthday Peach.

Dear Dad,
Ever stylin'

It's your birthday again. Again? Really? Time is flying by at the moment.

There's Pippa, you see. She's suddenly three and a bit weeks old and life is a bit crazy. In a good way. She's got this way of just looking at you, and you're certain that she's got it all figured out already, at only three weeks old. She smells divine and is such a delicious mystery. Millie is ever gorgeous, looking more and more like me as a baby (hence the ever gorgeous, y'know?) and turning into a Toddler Lady before our very eyes. I'm pretty sure you'd think she was the best thing since Vanilla Slices.

I'm not sure that you ever imagined yourself surrounded by grandchildren, but Dad, if you were here, you would be. Sally and I would also be leaving the room at opportune moments... leaving you to change dirty nappies. Hey - you always wanted to be a grandfather! Ha!

You're never far from my thoughts. Millie's stunning blue eyes are your eyes. My nose, your nose. (thanks a bunch, by the way.) Your four brothers? Identical to you. My brother Ben? Sounds just like you on the phone. It's freaky.

I think of you every Saturday night when there's nothing on television but freakin' Star Trek: Next Generation. Don't get me wrong, I love Picard with the best of them, but EVERY Saturday night? You'd bloody love it.

You would have been 64 today. Instead, you'll always be 58. Which is far too young for you to be missing from our lives, and I live in hope that by the time I'm 58 no one will needlessly die of cancer. I hope that by the time Millie and Pippa are 58, cancer is just a dirty word.

Love always,



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