Other than being tired, I woke up feeling okay today. Ya know, I probably would've made it through the whole damn day fine if I hadn't had to type the date. (Considering that I changed my daily calendar and my brain still didn't register that today's the 6th, that is.)
What's wrong with the 6th of May? Well, eight years ago today, my dad passed away. You'd think after eight years it wouldn't blindside me like it does. Don't worry, I'm not slipping into a deep depression. He had a good life and when the end was looming over him, he chose to set himself free of all the pain. (Dad was a dialysis patient with Wegener's disease and lung cancer. One day he just decided he'd had enough and refused dialysis. On Friday, he checked himself into a hospice where they loaded him to the gills with pain killers. He died the following Monday, peacefully and in his sleep. After more than a decade of pain, we all felt he deserved to meet his end on his own terms - pretty much like he lived his life.)
And since last year, I now have another reason for the 6th to suck. A year ago today was the funeral of a really good friend. He always was an instigator and I can almost imagine his ghostly being picking the 6th so he could get a really good cry out of me at his funeral. I really miss that about him. (And yes, I bawled like a baby at the service. Damn him.)
So, today's the 6th and right now I've got the 6th on the brain. I'll be better later when I forget - unless something reminds me of the date again.
Who knows, maybe when you're done arguing you can go fishing together.
(The pictures above from top to bottom: Dad and I at the Electronic Distributors' Show in Vegas late'90s. Dad and Daughter back in 1994. And finally Dad on vacation in the le Chenaux Islands 1985 - getting ready to head out for a day's fishing .)