I awoke from a deep sleep at 12:22 AM. Those are my favorite numbers because December 22nd is my birthday. Then I am reminded that it is officially Daniel's birthday. May 7th of 1947. And today he would have been 77 years old. Happy Birthday, Daniel.
Repeatedly, there are references to the number 7 in the Bible. I find it ironic that the number symbolizes "fullness" or "completion". Should we have known that Daniel's time on this earth would be completed around the age of 77? Not really. If we could see the future, we would probably live in fear.
I find it quite appropriate, and extremely fitting, that Mr. Google says people affiliated with the number 7 are believed to be "insightful, intuitive, truthful, introspective, intellectual, and wise." I couldn't have described Daniel better. Extremely intelligent and a voracious learner, he was the wisest man I have ever known. Even if I might occasionally be angry with him, I never believed otherwise. I felt that way long before he passed away. There are more adjectives I would add, such as loving, kind, considerate, and at least a dozen more. He was a good man.
Daniel, being an introvert, never wanted parties to celebrate his birthday. He would rather have a small family gathering, a few friends for dinner, or often, just the two of us. So today, I will approach this day quietly. I will take it in stride. This evening, I am going to dinner with friends, who want to give a toast to Daniel.
I will not be sad on this day. It would go against Daniel's attitude. He would say: "I carry my sunshine inside me!" And, in his honor, I hope everyone reading this will do the same.
Worth sharing
My granddaughter, Ellie, wrote this poem. She is 14 and a wonderful writer. She has also shed a lot of tears over her Papa's passing away:
A hollow ache, a tethered weight,
Grief clings to me, a shadowed mate.
It ebbs and flows, a tidal tear,
Sometimes a storm, sometimes a fear.
The world moves on in vibrant hues,
While shades of gray are all I choose.
A laugh, a song, a sudden sting,
A memory sharp, a joy won't sing.
Empty chair, a vacant space,
A silent name, a missing face.
The things unsaid, the love unseen,
A constant ache, a sharpened keen.
But whispers rise, like leaves in the breeze,
Of cherished moments, brought to ease.
A love that lives, a light that burns,
Though embers dim, the spirit yearns.
For grief may stay, a constant friend,
But love endures, until the end.
And with each tear, a strength I find,
To carry on, and leave behind,
The heavy cloak, the sting of pain,
To rise anew, and love again.
