I will never get over the loss of you. I actually hope I don’t. It helps me remember both you, and how deeply I loved you. Your chaotic dialect, your barbaric dance, your thunder clap, your rhythm and most of all, your childlike amusement. You made life relentlessly silly and boundlessly safe. How I knew no matter what I faced that I was never alone. I never understood the magnitude of particularly that until you slipped into your dementia, and eventually your death; and somehow even after that you still make me feel supported and cared for. The way you would cry when any of us fought and how you hated confrontation. The trust and faith you gave others (even the ones closest to you who didn’t deserve it). The anger I feel towards the one who deceived you. The fearlessness you had and the adrenaline rush you chased constantly. The way I always knew you deeply deeply cared for our wellbeing, so much that you sacrificed and gambled so much of your own. I could live 100 lifetimes as your daughter and friend. The saddest I ever get is when Im reminded of how this one was cut short. Everything Ive ever wanted to be, in each stage of my life, you effortlessly were. Everything I’ve ever loved about anyone, was because they reminded me of you. The void you leave behind is indescribable - gut wrenching and impossible to fill. 33 years just wasnt enough and I will sit between my gratitude and heartache for you forever. Happy birthday, dad.