August 10th has always been a special day for me and my family.
It was my Dad's birthday.
If he were still alive, he would have turned 85 today.
I'm writing this post from my family's summer place in Maine, a camp my dad built in 1976 mostly on his own, but with some help from my mom.
Building this camp was a childhood dream come true for my dad. It has served us well throughout the decades, providing a safe haven from busy life elsewhere for four different generations.
My kids -- who have been coming here every summer since they were born -- will arrive here a week from tomorrow. We will reminisce about "Pop" over meals, pointing out things that remind us of him. His fingerprints are truly everywhere you look here, from the dock to the shed to the knotty tongue and groove pine on the walls.
Photos of him holding bass he caught over the summers hang on the "Wall of Fame" at the foot of the stairs.
Notes he wrote to himself about supplies to buy, things like nails and glue and donuts and Q-tips, can be found randomly in drawers. We've since removed excess magazines and brochures about things like Lund fishing boats and hikes along the Maine coast he collected and saved in manilla folders.
But we can't bring ourselves to rid this place of everything that he once deemed important.
Life goes on after death. He would be so pleased knowing Mom and I swam today; that I fixed a delicious dinner of fresh Halibut, local corn, and salad for dinner; that I've been processing wood on the property and repurposing some of the structures he built over the years into new uses he would have liked.
I miss him every day, and especially today on his birthday.
To honor this day, here is a poem I wrote that will appear in my new collection, scheduled for publication in early 2024:
Swimming on What Would Have Been Your Dad’s 85th Birthday
Wide angle lens on the lake
The perfect shot:
Water sparkling in late afternoon sun
Trees heavy with cones
The sky his favorite shade of blue
Bluer than any sky has a right to
Wind blows hard from the Northwest
As you swim into the spray of
Whitecaps like teeth
Cutting across the water
Looking back toward the dock
You see only one head bobbing
When there used to be two
Still, your mom is smiling because she remembers:
He would have gone sailing today
He would have swum with us
He would have looked up at the trees
And the sky and sun diamonds
Sparkling on the waves and said,
“Dear Ones, this is exactly my kind of day."
