Birthday

You would have had a birthday Saturday.
You would have been 59 years old that day.
You would have had to renew your driver's license. Or decide not to.

School started, and River Days came and went before the date.
Reminders.
Reminders of a date I was trying not to think about.
(At least there was no Tobacco/ Farmer's Festival this year the weekend of.)

My sisters remembered you.
Our daughters remembered you.
I knew it to e your day, minus you, and I slept and went to work, where way too many of the men in the pictures had some feature that reminded me of you.


I don't think you have birthdays Where You Are.
If you do, wouldn't your birthday there be October 16?
But your mom is there, and your sister Dorothy,(and others) and I like to think that you felt the good memories and love from here, and that they somehow reminded you and remembered the day as yours, and I hope that they gave you the attention and the loving notice that I could not this year.




I could not, because you weren't here.
Because you aren't here.
 
You will never be here again.

But August 23 will always be your day.