Happy 55th birthday, my super spunk.
There is not a day passing that goes by escaping a moment of combined elation and ache in my heart. Nor a day without remembering the brilliant things, and the shitty things. Nor a day without being immersed in your legacy. And definitely not a day without reminding myself to be just a little bit better, because of you - to be even closer to you.
Sure I fall at times, and I also fly sometimes, too, living the life of an imperfect human, as we do. And you're always with me, encouraging most times, and nagging the shit out of me (rightfully so) at others. Don't worry: As you well know, when I fall I have a good go at myself, too.
Fifty four years was too short, for one with such a positive impact on me, on our beautiful sons, on our extended family, and on your world. It needed to be longer, but that couldn't be.
I still hear your giggle.
I still feel your love and warmth.
I still remember every detail of your beautiful blue eyes, staring into mine.
And I desperately want you back, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, although that can't be.
I do so love you so, my princess, and always will. Ours is a love to envy.
P.S. Nope: You're the best, and you rocked that outfit at your 40th. I looked like a dick.