Dad would have been 99 today. It’s not a stretch to imagine such a birthday for him. He was almost 91 when he died. 

I’m not sure he would have cared for what this world has become in the eight years since he’s been gone: harder, meaner, more confusing. And yet, Dad took his joy from family and friends, so I imagine he would have adjusted to the craziness. 

Because what’s important is that he would have seen five granddaughters marry and four become mothers, would have held six (soon to be seven) great-grandchildren in his arms.  He would have relished the new generation, as he relished so much of life. 

But four-score-and-ten is not a shabby lifespan, and he was not complaining at the end. Only grateful for what he had.  As we all were for having him so long. 

(Dad clowning around, as he was wont to do.)