Always Your Girl
Tomorrow would have been my Dad’s 95th birthday. Ray Finlayson died April 20, 2010 so he had a long life of love and joy. But we made a big deal out of every birthday. Dad was so fun to treat because he asked for nothing. I can remember handing him a present and a card and he would set the card aside because the words inside were what mattered more to him, not the gifts. But he would take the box and rub his hands together in anticipation and he’d pull the ribbon and gently release the tape and paper and lift the shirt or the sweater or whatever out of the box and say, “This is just beautiful…I really needed this!” He loved everything we gave him, even though after his death, I found a few of those beautiful shirts still in their plastic, waiting for the right occasion, I suppose. But among his things, I also found dozens and dozens of my cards, in little girl handwriting all the way through the last years.
Dad would then open his birthday card, one I had labored to choose, since Dad cards sometimes lacked the depth of what I felt for him. I always wrote long notes on top of the printed lyrics, always telling him how proud I was to be his daughter, how I treasured our special dad/daughter bond and how I would love him forever.” There, I’ve said it again. Happy birthday, Daddy. Always your girl.
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