When you were here, I soldiered through dark days because of you. Now, I soldier through dark days in spite of you. All that remains is the memory of what used to be and the thought of what could have been. You ended your story. My story isn’t over yet. I wish I had been the author of your story so I could have kept it going. My story is a greek tragedy at best; waiting to see you on the flip side son. Happy birthday. Love you yesterday, today, and for eternity.