My father, Miguel Izaguirre.

Today is my father's birthday.

I wondered what I could do to get through the day the quickest.

I have yet to figure something out. What I have discovered, however, is how much I wish I could do something, anything to celebrate with him. But I can't.

I probably never will again.

I only wish I had a place to mourn; to know if I should even mourn. I have faith but I am also practical. Regardless, I miss him immensely. I wanted to buy him flowers, but where would I leave them? Grieving is hard. Now knowing if I really should be grieving is difficult. Not knowing at all is even harder.

I actually do not know what age he would be now but what I do know is that on October 7th of many, many years ago the man who gave me life was born. I love you papi... te quiero mucho.

Happy Birthday Papi!!!

Hugs & Kisses.