I always forget.
I always forget because it’s not a date that is burned in my mind. I was two. I was too young.
I forget until something comes up. Someone else mentions losing their father, and then it hits me, “Oh yeah, it’s April already. I missed it.”
My unconscious must have remembered, though. I had a hard bout of depression right around the 4th, for a solid week at least. Maybe just a coincidence. Doesn’t matter if it was, though.
I’m told he doted on me as a baby. I imagine I would have felt loved, growing up as his son.
I don’t remember anything of him but stories, photographs, and home movies. I can’t remember being held, or looking at his face. Nothing.
I have a bookmark of his, a letter opener, the wedding ring he gave my mom, and a photo or two of him. Not much. Enough, I guess.
Rest in peace, Dad.