60
Actual Bob with actual spice cake AI Bob aged to 60 years old
“Mama. Tomorrow’s Daddy’s birthday.”
My hands slowed their nightly ritual. Meg’s fragrant, damp hair slipped easily through my fingers like silk, tumbling all the way down to her butt crash. (That’s what we call “butt crack” in our family.) Bob had never seen her hair this long. She was only 3 when he died.
“He would have been 60 tomorrow. We would have had a big celebration for him,” I assured her. My eyes did that thing where they lose focus a bit because the eyes in my imagination began to open wide, peering in to the tomorrow that should have been.
“If Daddy were still here…”
In my mind's eye, the sticky humidity of the Pacific Northwest shifted into the dry, mid-90s heat of an El Dorado Hills evening. It was just past six o’clock. I was wearing a sleeveless pink dress, standing out on the cowboy coffee flagstone patio, which was the stone I picked out while Bob just smiled and gave his easy nod of agreement. My joy was his joy.
The backyard was alive with the laughter of seventy or so guests, swelled over by the live acoustic band performing on the lawn. Friends in khaki shorts held cocktail glasses with little umbrellas and maraschino cherries, while their kids cannonballed into the pool. Meg was fussing over the catering, while our older girls laughed nearby, arms wrapped around their husbands, watching their children pilfer from the buffet. Family flew in to join in the fun.
Fresh floral arrangements were showcased on every table, illuminated by a warm, golden glow of outdoor café lights. On the gift table sat a pile of brightly wrapped boxes, almost certainly hiding new drivers, custom headcovers, and boxes of golf balls. How did they know!
Then, as the sun sunk below the horizon, a brilliant hiss of sparklers atop a towering, three-tiered spice cake stole everyone’s attention. Bob smiled his deep, warm smile as everyone gathered to sing, “Happy Birthday to You!”
As the party finally began to wind down and the crowd thinned, Bob asked the band to play our song. His large paw took mine, gliding me into his chest. We swayed together on the flagstone next to the pool, locked in our rhythm, insulated from the rest of the world.
A little slice of Heaven.
Actual me (December 2023) AI me and Bob AI Bob age 60
This is the first time I've ever given AI a picture of Bob to render. It's definitely not him, but it's close enough that my heart is aching tonight.
Shadow losses are the moments of life that death has stolen from us. There is no house in California with friends gathered around to celebrate. No romantic dancing by the pool.
My daughter asked me tonight to please write a book of “all the stories about everything.” She and some friends at work were talking about their deceased fathers today, predicting how rough it's going to be for them to work next Sunday (Father's Day). One's father died earlier this year. Another one's died last year. Bob died almost 16 years ago. All these girls are working on Father's Day, and you better believe I'm going to be there to support them.
“Daddy loved you so much, Bunny,” I tried to give her tonight and talked about all his aspirations for her. I knew my words were not what her heart needed. She desperately yearned for a huge Bob hug complete with his, “I love you.” I am the Daddy surrogate, charged with channeling his love for my girls.
Tomorrow will be a quiet day, warm and summery here in Washington. I'm going to bake a spice cake for Bob and share it with Meg and Darrell. Everyone else is off doing their thing, which is absolutely what Bob would want - for them to be embracing the lives they have. It feels so small, his big 6-0, not at all reflective of the abundant love we all have for him. We will barbecue and eat well in his honor.
I am not, however, putting 60 candles on the cake. If he were here, you bet I would and then dance the night away in his arms.
June 13, 2026