I knew you were fed up with a box of wine gums every year, but I have a better present for you this year. I've sorted my life out, I've found what I was looking for.
I wish you could see me now.
I have a wonderful husband, I know you would get on really well with him. He's clever, like you. I met him a week before you passed away. I'm sorry I didn't tell you that I'd met the love of my life (well, I didn't exactly know that then, but I had a pretty good idea). When I mentioned there was someone I wanted to meet off the internet you thought he would be a paedophile, grooming me. I reminded you that I was thirty-six years old. You said you would always think of me as a six year old. Your little girl.
I still am sometimes.
I wanted a hug from my daddy this week, when we lost our cat Eric. You would have shed a tear too and then told me to pull myself together. We would have sat at the dining room table drinking coffee and eating your delicious homemade bread, covered with soft butter. You would have told me I was putting on weight and should I be eating that. I would have told you to shut up. We would have looked at the crossword together. We would fantasise about winning the lottery, how much each of us would give the other.
Your best present of all, of course, would be your two gorgeous grandchildren.
I bet you'd given up all hope of becoming a Grandad.
Presley looks a bit like you, he definitely takes after our side of the family. Cash looks more like his Daddy. They are amazing boys. I can see you with one on each knee. You could tell them the story about the hedgehogs that you made up when I was small. Of course you would take thousands of photographs of them and we would watch their little eyes glaze over when you went into far too much detail about the settings on your camera. Don't worry, we take plenty of photos of them.
When they are old enough to ask where Mummy's Daddy is, I will tell them he is smiling in heaven, proud of Mummy.
Happy Birthday Dad. I love you and I miss you x