Happy Birthday, Dad. I wish you were spending it with us instead of in heaven this year.
You would be 68 years old today. It's been 8 months that you've been gone, 4 days shy actually. Not a day goes by that I don't think of you, miss you, miss something in my life without you there.
I miss your infectious smile.
I miss hearing your voice.
I miss your hugs.
I miss being able to call you when things aren't right in my world.
I miss calling you for directions, no matter where I am.
I miss planning surprises for mom with you.
I miss you taking care of anything and everything for me.
I miss you teaching me about everything.
I miss our shopping days together, talking you into buying something for the house, or for mom, or buying something just because I think we need it.
I miss camping with you.
I miss bandaging up your scrapes - and scolding your for not being more careful.
I miss your cooking.
I miss going to football and baseball games with you.
I miss picking out and planting flowers with you.
I miss going on trips with you.
I miss you as my designated driver - or me as yours.
I miss hearing your stories - no matter how many times you told them.
I miss hearing about your crazy plans, trips, and ideas.
I miss you always knowing what to say to make me feel better.
I miss the way you always "bragged" about your wife, children and grandchildren to anyone who would listen.
I miss talking to you, minimum of once a day.
I miss you visiting me at work.
I miss your requests to go shopping to buy "in style" jeans and clothes.
I miss packing you for your trips at midnight the night before a 6 am flight.
I miss labeling your dress shirts, ties, and pants so you made sure you had the matching combination.
I miss your yellow spray painted line in the driveway to show us where not to park - if we didn't want to get backed into.
I miss your collecting of travel sized anything from all of your trips.
I miss you getting mad at me for doing things on the computer instead of showing you how.
I miss worrying about you.
I miss you running around on your scooter.
I miss the way you could always talk yourself out of things.
I miss you snoozing in the recliner.
I miss you being the leader of this Griswold family.
I miss being able to always count on you for anything.
I miss what a wonderful, proud grandpa you were.
I miss the way you never thought any food was old or outdated - no matter how much green stuff was growing on it.
I miss hearing you call me by my nicknames.
I miss your presence in this big house.
I miss everything about you ...
But most of all, I just miss my daddy, and being your little girl.
Happy Birthday daddy. I love you.