October 18.
In elementary school I had a friend named Sarah Dunnihoo. Her brother and my brother were in scouts together, and she and I were in the same grade, so our families had a lot of interaction with each other. I remember once she told me that I belonged in her family because my birthday was on the 19th, which is the same as the rest of her family. I also knew that my dad and her dad had birthdays that were just one day apart. So, my trick to remind myself of my dad's birthday was to think to myself "not the 19th, that's Sarah's dad because that's mine so my dad's is the 18th". Please don't ask why I couldn't just remember the 18th. This is how my numbers-brain works - I think of all these crazy tricks that help me remember, and the tricks stick with me as long as the numbers do.
Maybe the reason I wasn't able to just simply remember the 18th was because my dad wasn't ever celebrated as much on his birthday as the rest of us were. As I'm sitting here I'm trying to remember specifically what we did for him and I'm drawing blanks. I know one year my mom set up a scavenger hunt around the house with gifts in various places, and the hunt ended with him finding 6 cinnabon cinnamon rolls in the microwave. A gift for all! I thought that scavenger hunt idea was so clever, and a few times I've tried to replicate it but have yet to succeed. I also remember we celebrated his "first" birthday, one year after his bone marrow transplant. We gave him baby gifts, like mr. potato head and such. Other than those 2 occasions, I don't remember his birthday at all. I am sure something was done, I was just too young to remember.
But I know my mom wouldn't have let his birthday go unnoticed because he was very much deserving of that. He spent a lot of time and effort doing for others; buying for others, helping others, teaching others, etc. A lot of his energy, at least during my lifetime, was spent serving other people so I am sure that on this one day, if none other, we did focus a bit on him.
I've thought for a few days about what I'd write to describe my dad. I've written about him so much, but most of what I've written has focused on my loss. It's a bit of an oxymoron to discuss his death when writing about his birthday, so I'll try to take another angle. I just have had trouble thinking of what to say! I want to write about him in a way that paints the picture of who he was. I want you to know the kind of person he was. I want you to know how he was loving, caring, genuine, hilarious, friendly, and so much, much more. But how do I say that? I can't write a story about each characteristic - I'd be writing for hours and you'd surely quit reading. I can think of one story that brings in a few of the words I used to describe him, though I'm sure there are plenty more.
Go with me back to a Saturday morning when I was 12. I am not sure why, but my dad and I were the only ones at home. I was sleeping in, as most 12 year olds do, when I heard my phone ring. I was a little irritated when I answered, wondering who on earth was rude enough to call before 10 am, when I realized it was my dad on the other end of the line. He was calling me from his business phone in the living room, and he was calling to tell me he was ready for me to wake up. If I close my eyes, this is one of those memories I can still see so vividly it is like it is happening now.
Hey baby girl, are you ready to get up?
No, why?
Because I'm in the living room and I've been waiting all morning for you to wake up. I miss you and want to spend some time with you.
Ok, I'll come out. <-- this was said with a slight hint of a teenage girl attitude, much to my regret now. And this part of the story is supposed to represent the loving side.
I walked out into the living room to see the same sight I'd seen so many Saturday mornings before. My dad was sitting in his robe next to his computer desk (because back then desks were specified for computers or not, and most were not) He had the morning paper sprawled out across the floor and his cup of coffee sitting next to him. Our dog Al was laying at his side. I went and sat down by him, asking him what he was doing.
I'm reading the obituaries.
Eww, that sounds gross. Why?
I like to see if any of my customers have passed away.
So you read them all the time?
A lot.
...long pause...
Daddy, do you think you'll be in there some day, like.... soon? Cause I don't want you to be.
He didn't answer right away, so I looked up and saw that he was crying. Aside from when he was first diagnosed with cancer, I'm pretty sure I'd never seen him cry.
Don't cry daddy, I'm sorry.
It's ok pumpkin angel, even though it is sad to think about I am glad that you can talk to me about this and tell me that you don't want me to be. I don't think I will be anytime soon, I'm not planning on it anyway. And don't worry about me crying. Its ok for men to cry.
Then he pulled me onto his lap to hold me and hug me. It didn't matter that I probably weighed more than him at this point in his illness, he was still daddy and he was still big enough to hold his baby. <--This is supposed to depict the genuine side of him. He did not need to be big and tough or put on the facade of being a "real man". Not for me, anyway.
I said ok, and told him that I was glad he could talk to me about that stuff too. There was some silence for a little bit - I mean really, where does a conversation go from there? So then he started talking in his Emmitt Smith voice, telling me that if I didn't start thinking about happier things he'd have to tickle me until all the sad stuff came out. The Emmitt Smith voice is the "hilarious" part of him. I have to tell you that neither my dad nor anyone else in our family has ever met Emmitt Smith. (though I've been the closest as I have a stalker-ish picture in front of the iron gate in his lawn) We've heard him talk on TV, though, and my dad's emmitt smith voice has no liking to his. I'm not even sure why we called it that, but I guess that doesn't matter. This voice had been around for years and it was just him talking in a goofy way, slurring words and mispronouncing nearly everything. As I'm typing it now I am realizing that it doesn't sound hilarious in the slightest, but I promise it was. And it work, because in no time he had me cracking up on that Saturday morning.
I don't know why that seemingly insignificant memory is so vivid in my mind. I know my favorite part was that he was sitting in the living room all morning just waiting for me to get up. There was nothing more in the world (well, maybe the Dallas Cowboys) that he loved more than spending time with his family. My mom, my brothers and I were the entire world to him and he never passed on an opportunity to spend time with any one of us. I remember when I read a letter that he wrote to my brother Brian on his 16th birthday, roughly 2 weeks before he passed away. The letter spoke of the special memories that just the 2 of them shared, and about parts of their relationship that was unique to just them. I was only 13, so I was a little naive, but I literally thought to myself, "WOW. He had the time to have special relationships with each one of us!" I knew he loved us all unconditionally, and I knew that he and my brothers shared things that I was not a part of, but I guess it never occurred to me that he had room in his heart to have that kind of relationship with anyone else after all the time, energy and love that was poured into our relationship. It was a wonderful moment for me to realize how much love his heart held. And I had just scratched the surface.
I'm currently making a book of letters that were written by his family, friends, friends of his kids, teachers of his kids, customers...truly, there are letters from people in every avenue of his life. Reading through the letters has showed me that not only did he have room in his heart for relationships like that with his wife and kids, but he had room for all of these other people as well. Everyone wrote their own special memories, but one thing seemed to resonate throughout the stories: Bill Blair gave of himself to anyone who needed him, and when you were with him you truly felt like there was nothing in the world he'd rather be doing. He had a love for people of all ages, and my scrapbook table is overflowing, a book that is literally busting because there is too much in it, that tells of his love. Our friend Judy Newey gave us a poem that she modified in his name that describes our lives as a "dash" from one end to the next. The poem notes that the important part is what we do in the middle. My dad was never famous and he certainly never made millions. He didn't work hard at building a name for himself in the business world. He didn't even graduate from college. But one thing he did accomplish, which I think most people unfortunately miss out on, was connecting with people. Knowing people. Loving people. He passed along his gift of truly connecting with people to me and of all of the traits I acquired from him, that is the one of which I am most proud.
Happy birthday daddy. I miss you every day, and I love you very much. Oh - and I really hope you're enjoying your time in heaven with mimi so much that neither of you have even noticed the cowboys this season..........
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