It was my twelfth birthday. I decided to wait up until midnight, hoping he would call. I wanted to give him every last possible moment to remember.
As the clock struck twelve, I sobbed.
Thirty-three years later, on my forty-fifth birthday, I waited up again.
Over the years, he had missed many birthdays, so this year’s omission was no surprise. The surprise was in my response.
There I was, a grown man, crying like a little boy.