Happy Birthday, Blair Jay Whitham, Sr.

Happy Birthday Dad -- -

Wow -- you'd be 90 today if you were still alive. But the odds are that you wouldn't be. Sixty-one was way too young to die but 90 is pretty old to live--particularly the way you lived. Burning the candle at both it's ends.

You've been gone nearly 30 years. But I can picture you and hear you as if you had just left the room, so indelibly are you imprinted in my memory. Of course, you were a huge presence in my life, in our lives: physically, audibly, emotionally, psychologically. I remember you, but I also know you are in me. My outgoing personality is from you, a good deal of my smarts are from you, my curly hair is from you, my athleticism (such as it is) is from you, my workaholism and my ability to party. The days I am focused and productive and strong and really hardworking, I know I'm your daughter. The times I fill a room with my exuberance or humor or stories, or I raise a margarita or a G & T or a Snapper in a toast, I am well aware I am Blair Whitham's daughter. The days I lose my temper, and there are not that many anymore, well -- we know where that came from.

I have regrets. Regrets that you didn't live long enough for me to get over being afraid of you. Regrets that you may not have known that I did love you very much. Regrets you didn't know me as a grown woman (I did keep my distance). Regrets you were not more approachable. Regrets I didn't give you a piece of my mind.

But mostly, I have regrets that you didn't know my children, Miranda and Kyle, because you would have loved them. And regrets that you weren't able to know all of your grandchildren and your great grandchildren. They are a wondrous bunch. They are so damned smart. And they are so handsome and beautiful. And they are all so dear: really good kids, sweet kids, caring, conscientious, hardworking, and tremendously fun-loving kids. You'd be prouder than punch.

Your early death spared us being members of the sandwich generation. We have not been torn between taking care of our kids and you and mum. But wouldn't we all have traded any amount of work for more time with you? Sure we would.

Well, Dad, it's really late. My candle is almost burnt out for the day. And I'll go into high gear in 5 or so hours. I'll not have a lot of time to think about you or toast you or talk to you the way I talk to Kyle, but I wish there were a way for you to know you are a continuing presence in my life. And that I am very proud to have been your daughter. And that many many people miss you and love you very very much.

And though you probably know I'm not much of a believer, if you do get this--I guess it's kind of a prayer-- from me, send love to Mum and to Nana and Grandpa Whitham, to Uncle Dick, Uncle Bud, cousin Jeff, Aunt Esther, and Aunt Betty. And to the Clags and Ken Bice and the other Princeton folk. And anyone else you're in touch with that I'm leaving out. And, please, spend some time with Kyle. He's probably still overwhelmed about leaving us all so soon. And I think the two of you would really get along.

With all my love, Dad,
I'm still your
Cindy Gayle