Dad's 70th Birthday

It’s hard to believe that my dad has been in Heaven for seven years, seven months, and about 19 days. He passed away on May 18, 2013, after battling multiple myeloma for at least six months. I miss him every single day, but there are certain days of the year when it hits me kind of hard: the anniversary of his passing from Earth, Fathers’ Day, and his birthday. Today would have been his 70th birthday. Instead of dwelling on his loss, I decided to do something in memory of him.

Every year on Dad’s birthday, my brother will ride his bicycle the number of miles of what Dad’s age would have been. Today, he rode his bike for 70 miles. I’m not as much of an athlete like my brother, but I do keep fit. I decided to hike for about 70 minutes (one hour and 10 minutes). What I did not plan on because this was a divine appointment was the time I started my hike. At 1:07 PM on 1-7-2021, I started the slight climb up the Ocotillo Trail which is about .9 miles one way. Once I made it to the top, I decided to walk some extra miles before walking down the trail. The entire walk took me over 70 minutes.

Throughout this walk, I felt my dad was with me because we would walk this trail together. One of the most memorable times we had on this trail happened about 11 years ago. I had been going through a deep depression and a slight heartbreak. In order to get me out of my funk, Dad offered to have me walk along with him on this trail while he did his geocaching. What made this walk memorable was the conversation we had. I don’t ever remember Dad being emotionally vulnerable with me in my 33 years of life (my age at that time).

“Rejection really hurts,” he said.

“How would you know?” I asked. “You and Mom have been married over 36 years and you were both young when you got married.”

Dad recalled his first heartbreak when he was in high school. A girl he had a crush on didn’t like him back and he said that “No matter how long ago that happened when I think about it, it still hurts.”

“But you’ve got Mom now,” I reminded him.

“You never forget your first rejection,” he told me. Dad was right because I never forgot my first rejection either. Even though I was recently nursing a disappointment over a guy who didn’t notice me, the pain of that rejection from junior high still hurt far worse.

I always thought my dad was one of the bravest people I ever knew and that he didn’t stay hurt or upset for long. He was a Vietnam Vet after he graduated high school in 1969, so he’d seen a lot for someone his age. He said what was on his mind and didn’t care what others thought of him. When he was around my age, he wore jeans when he ran. Of course, some of his sisters thought that was appalling and unstylish. I could go on about what a hero I thought Dad was, but that will take up a lot of space. When we had that hike in 2010, I learned something new about Dad and figured that maybe he understood my heartbreak after all. I had always thought Mom was his first love, but his first love was someone in high school.

Talking or writing about my dad doesn’t seem so hard now. With the way things have been going in this world for the last year, my heart wants to return to those days of the past.