And Many More

You know that insignificant, and rather unnecessary “And many moooooore!” they attach to the end of the “Happy Birthday” song? Well, perhaps this year it holds a greater meaning. I refuse to sing it because, well for one, I can’t sing; and for another, I would rather not use it more than once.

I wrote it in parentheses under where it said “Happy Birthday” in the card I picked out for my father. I feel as though if I repeat it too many times it will 1) lose its meaning, and 2) my father will notice that I am trying to persuade him to fight another year. The only reason the latter is not what I want is because I do not know how tired he is. I do not know how terrible he feels after so much chemo, radiation, and a difficult medical procedure that left him in excruciating pain.

The only peace of mind I have in all this is the thought that perhaps what lies beyond this life is what is best for my father at this point in time. Perhaps death will bring that happiness, that peace, that bliss that he absolutely deserves. I do not wish to make my father feel like he must suffer to make me happy. I once thought that all I wanted was for my father to live, but no, all I want is for him to be happy. Unfortunately, this may mean that I have to make a tremendous sacrifice, but you know what? I’m ready to do so.

There is something special about being able to take care of an individual that cared for you your entire life. Although there is also something sobering about seeing the once strong and proud father of yours now barely able to put together a coherent sentence because of all the medications he is on. My dad is the most precious man on this planet, and he deserves to live. However, he only deserves to live as a happy man. If sadness, stress, and misery are all this world has to offer then no, he does not deserve that.

Happy birthday, Dad. And may all your birthdays be so.