You’d have been 67 today.

It’d be two years into your retirement on paper and I am entirely sure nothing would have changed. You’d be working every day because you didn’t know anything else, and I’d continue to fail to grasp why. It must be one of those things that we aren’t supposed to understand about one another.

That doesn’t stop me from wondering if the time would ever have come where you hung it up on purpose instead of having your hands and finally the rest of you give out from overuse. The idealized version I have of you in a neat compartment would have rode off into the sunset in grace but the reality was not a cheesy movie ending. Reality is harsh and unforgiving.

I am sure I’ll revisit this notion of who you might have been at least a couple times a year and today just happens to be a fitting day to do so. You’d have been 67 today but you couldn’t be here to avoid celebration.

I think of you often and spend quality time wondering what might have been.