I never thought I would ever forget my father’s birthday.  We’ve really become very close since Mom’s stroke and Alzheimer’s onset.  And I was wondering just last week what I needed to get him.  I didn’t expect my memory to fail me.  Especially not on  his 94th birthday.  You see, I visit twice a day to give Mom her medicines and he mentioned this evening all the wonderful phone calls relatives made.  

It’s clear how all the job-related hassles, deadlines and responsibilities mean so very little in the long run.  Birthday’s are important.  Very important.  Happy Birthday, Dad.  Belated celebratory plans are being made as I write…

 

UPDATE!   Dad received cake and ice cream at 5 PM CST along with a generous stash of cookies and some hanging baskets I found at the gardening center.  Mom subsequently forgot that she had forgotten his birthday yesterday too, but neglected to remember what she’d gotten him (or thought she had gotten him).