A couple of days ago, my dad would have turned 70. I got through most of the day without remembering this fact. It's been nearly eight years since he died and over those eight years, my commemoration of specific anniversaries has slipped. This is, I think, a good thing. It's what Dad would want. This does not mean that I don't miss him. I do. Sometimes with a fierceness that takes me off guard and sends tears literally spouting out of my eyes.

Dad is not buried anywhere. We cremated his remains and have scattered his ashes in many places that were special to him and to us. I have saved a little bit in a small brown box wrapped tight with a rubber band. There is no grave to visit once a year and this seems freeing to me. He is tied to nothing and because of that, he is tied to everything. I mourn him and celebrate him and I move on with my life all at the same time.