Not yet, not yet

It’s the blog’s fourth birthday.

Yes, four years ago today it began in modest fashion with a post talking about Keira painting out on the back deck. How she’s grown, how we all have.

But I’m not celebrating – I’m saving that for tomorrow (and it will be fun). It just doesn’t seem right because today would’ve also been dad’s 61st birthday.

I still don’t know how to write my feelings about this, so I leave you with a moving piece of dialogue from one of the more impeccable episodes of Buffy.

Anya: I don’t understand. I don’t understand how this all happens. How we go through this. I mean I knew her, and then she’s, there’s just a body, and I don’t understand why she can’t just get back in it and not be dead anymore. It’s stupid. It’s mortal and stupid, and, and Xander crying and not talking, and I was having fruit punch and I thought, well, Joyce will never have any more fruit punch, ever. And she’ll never have eggs, or yawn, or brush her hair, not ever and no one will explain to me why.”