Today would have been my Dad's 81st birthday. When he died, three and a half years ago I finally understood the pain my children felt when their father died. The difference though was that I knew his death was coming and I had already had him in my life for 46 years. It didn't make his death any easier and I miss him still; even more so at this time of year.

My Dad loved Christmastime and revelled on his birthday, a day when my sister and I and our families would come together to celebrate it. When we were little, Dad's birthday gifts were wrapped in Christmas paper and often were combined as a Christmas present. Once we got older, we realized just how important it was to acknowledge his birthday as a separate event and made it into a special occasion. We could tell how much he appreciated it by the broad, permanent smile he wore and by the effort he put into preparing his annual spaghetti dinner. It was a ritual for us to celebrate his birthday at his house and to feast on his homemade spaghetti sauce, something he loved to prepare. We also imbibed in his homemade wine, some good, some not so, but his pride and joy just the same. When Rick and I converted to vegetarianism, I would provide the sauce and we would serve meatballs on the side for those who wanted them. I think by then, Dad appreciated the help and since I'd quit drinking, I would provide my own beverages too and no longer imbibed in his wine.

This is the first time in years that we haven't been together to honour Dad's birthday but we haven't forgotten it. I had hoped that maybe the new baby would make an entrance today, which would have been a fine way to continue the tradition but that was not to be. It seems it will remain for now solely my father's special day, at least in our family, but sadly over time it will lose its significance. For now though, Dad's birthday will continue to warm our hearts as we hold on to some very special memories. I feel privileged to have had him as my father. I miss you, Dad!