Happy birthday to you…

Grief is marked by a long list of firsts: first day, first night, first Christmas, Easter, Father’s Day, walk in the park, board game, family dinner, on it goes.

My father’s birthday was this past week and though we weren’t sure at first how to mark it, I think my sister and I nailed it (appropriate lingo for my builder father).

My Dad was one to never say no to coffee, especially if it involved going to a coffee shop; the last one we visited together was The Buzz, where we had some great java and talked about some of their wood pieces created by a local artisan.

Diane and I got up early and went first thing to fit it into a busy day, and it was a wonderful start. They had a newsletter that was very appropriate: for Father’s Day (and it was, after all, our father’s day), it featured not only crosswords and suduko – he was all about the word and number puzzles – but Dad Jokes too.

I thought about him as I went about the rest of the day, working around the house (my Dad was such a hard worker) and picking raspberries. My parents cultivated raspberry bushes in every home they’ve lived in on Vancouver Island and my dad could often be spotted on June evenings in the berry patch, picking away.