Nina May

Like the days in the life of a new born, mourning is often characterized by a year of firsts.

First hour after the world changed.

First night alone.

First meal without someone else "suggesting" how you could do it just a little better.

First load of laundry sans the deceased two-pocketed long-sleeved shirts.

First trip to the grocery store.

First trip past the Longhorn without ordering a Flo's filet.

First time making scrambled eggs the way you like them, not to please someone else's idea of delicious.

First time making it through a church service without bawling.

First time you don't feel the need to shout at an innocent phone solicitor who is simply doing his job that your father is dead and you will no longer be supporting the Republican Party or the NRA even if he was a lifetime member.

First birthday, anniversary, holiday without the beloved person.

Sweetie took me to the cemetery today. Tears streamed down my face as I ran my fingers across Dad's name and the dates of his life carved in the marble stone. Oh how I wish I could hold his hand again.

We had a small birthday celebration tonight in Dad's honor at his favorite steak place. It was nice being with people I love who know how I'm feeling.

There is still much to do to get this house back in some kind of order. Days go by and life goes one. My heart still hurts. But maybe it's beginning to heal.

Happy Birthday, Dad,

Merry ME