Day of the Daddy

"I miss Daddy."
- Ian, pretty much every day the last few weeks

We talked about how I miss him too. We talked about how having him back with cancer would be cruel because he was in pain. We talked about how having him back without cancer is impossible. I don't try to fix it because there's not really anything to fix. It just is. I listen. 

"I get one less holiday than everyone else because my dad's dead."
- Ian, last year around Father's Day and again last night

He's been sleeping with me every couple days. Usually he shows up around 2am with some complicated story about how the dog is hogging the covers. I just tell him to stop talking and get in the bed. Then he squirms and digs and snores all night. But he sleeps. He woke up in pretty good spirits this morning. First thing he said as he opened his eyes was, "I wonder when I'll be taller than you." I sleepily said, "Next week, at the rate we're going."

"What day did Daddy die?"
"February 20th, just before midnight."
"Is that a school day?"
"It is this year."
"We should celebrate it."
"I wondered about that. Is it weird to celebrate a day someone died? They couldn't control that date. Then again they couldn't control their birthday either. Hunh ..."
"If we celebrate that day, then I'll get my holiday back. The one I'm missing. The Mexicans have Day of the Dead and they celebrate dead people that day. So we can have Day of the Daddy."
"Deal."

And then he popped out of bed to get socks and go have breakfast. So next Tuesday, we'll have some Mexican food and cuss inappropriately (more than we already do) and watch Blazing Saddles.