It’s only been four months and two days since my father died. Some days are better than others, but this is February–his birthday month. For two years prior to his death, I always got him something personal. Last year, he got the first copy of the second draft of Book II: The Saga of Thranduil, the book that I dedicated to him. He seemed to love it–mostly because it was the size of a Chemistry Textbook. He would die 8 months later.

I knew my father better than anyone–no matter what my stepmother says about that–and he would want me to go on living and writing things. I know myself–I am not one to break with tradition. So I’m going to announce what I’m giving the world on February 16 what gift I’m giving to the world in honor of my father on his birthday. He would want me to do something in his name. Since I’m not independently wealthy, just a measure of gratitude will suffice.

He preferred cards to bulky boxes wrapped in paper but he did like the book I wrote (just a couple of weeks before he died he was upset that his nursing home hadn’t brought it to him in hospice care). I would read it to him when I went to see him. The last day I saw him alive, I read some to him. He couldn’t speak and was slipping away but I read to him anyway. After four hours, I was about to leave and oddly, he turned over and said what he always would say after a nap: “Where are you going?” I just said, “home”. He said, “okay.” Those were the last words he said to me.

He lived long enough to see my first book. Two and a half years he remained on this earth to see me finish my first book I gave him on his birthday 8 months before he died. It’s only fitting I give him something for his birthday. Perhaps every year until I join him. He would want me to go on. 💖