I wasn’t particularly close to my dad, so I don’t know why his birthday always feels so big to me. My mom left him when I was eight and took me here to LA with her family, and really that was it save for several visits I can count on one hand. Throughout high school I was so angry with him for basically abandoning me, and then he died a couple of weeks before my high school graduation which suddenly turned that anger into a sort of malaise-esque pall of regret.
It’s not like I’m sitting in the corner wallowing in a pool of my tears or anything dramatic like that. There’s just an extra bit of sadness today.
He would have been 75 today, so most likely he wouldn’t have made it this long. So I guess there’s that, right?