Happy Birthday Big A

Saturday, Mar. 11, 2006, he would have been 70 years old.

Hard to believe, it’s been little more than 5 months since his passing. It feels like yesterday that we were sitting with him at the Vegas Diner for breakfast. He beamed whenever his grandkids were there. Come to think of it, he beamed at everyone who came. To get us to come to breakfast, Big A’d always chided, “You don’t know how much longer I’ve got.” If only we’d known it was so true, we wouldn’t have skipped out as we did sometimes.

Since his death, we hadn’t gone back, not as a family. The memories would only bring back the sting of loss. However, in observance of Big A’s birthday, we did go. It was myself, the BF, his twin sister, her husband and son, little A, the BF’s other sister, family friend JJ and J. Not the whole family, but that was okay. Everyone will remember him in their own way.

It was a somber gathering. We didn’t talk much about Big A but we were there for him. His presence loomed. It was tinged with happiness. Little A, joyfully oblivious, grabbed at everything within arm’s reach as short as they were, distracting us.

One the restaurant workers, H, was happy to see us. We’d been fairly regular that we’d become acquainted with him. He’d come to Big A’s funeral.

We ate quickly and quietly. Little A cooed and slapped at the table, grunting a request now and again.
We steeled ourselves for the task ahead of driving out to the cemetery to pay our respects.

We’d all piled into separate cars but I imagine every car was as quiet as ours.

The day was gorgeous, perfect for a drive, perfect for his birthday. The scenery whizzed by without focus. The only thing I noted, we passed a funeral procession heading the same direction as us. It was just odd. Driving out as often as we did, never saw one, but now here’s one on this day.

Strange coincidences.

Arriving at the cemetery, we stopped by Big A’s grave which was also his father’s grave. He’d wanted to be buried with his father. He didn’t want his father to be alone. The grave stone only bore his father’s name. Big A’s name hadn’t been carved in yet. The BF’s sisters were on the case to figure out why.

In the clear sky, we stood silently, speaking to him. We were close to his earthly remains, but he was always with us. I touched the grave stone. No magical, wonderful energy surged into me, but I was comforted.

Quietly I wished him, Happy Birthday. I wish there’d been more.