Nine years ago today was my first birthday in
Cincinnati. In my role I was typically at client sites, but on that day I went into the office. I was alone, and feeling sorry for myself.
I made up some excuse to call my dad at his office, a thousand miles away. We talked, and hung up. I had hoped for a "happy birthday," but he forgot. A little while later he called back and gave birthday wishes and apologized.
So, every year, because of this and his tendencies to be an early riser, he was always one of the first people to call me on my birthday.
He passed away last week.
This morning I come into my cube, and put my gear down. My phone rings, and I pick it up. It is not until the party on the other end greets me that I realize that part of my brain was expecting it to be Dad. The caller talks for a bit while I start to cry.
I tell him that I just walked in the door, and I need a few minutes to get organized. Would he mind if I called him back in a bit?
A while later, in a closed office, I regain my composure, and face the day.
Sorry--sharing this make me feel a bit better.