Today my father would have turned 77. He died over ten years ago, not quite reaching his 67th birthday. It is somewhat alarming to think that in 16 years’ time I will be the same age as he was when he died. We are not very good at thinking honestly about death. But as I can’t buy into the cultural stories that are supposed to offer comfort, I design my own ritual of remembering my father’s life.
On what would have been my father’s 76th birthday, I reflect on the power of anniversaries to tell the world what you can’t tell the dead. I miss you, and I love you.