Happy Birthday, Rhett

I should be calling you.

I should be singing that stupid little song. The one you used to sing to me in that big brother way that made me want to cry.

Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday to you.
You look like a monkey
And smell like one too.

I should be meeting you for dinner at La Casa.

I should be bringing you a funny, silly card that took me a whole 10 minutes to pick out. And some goofy Saints paraphernalia for a gift.

You should be getting sticky kisses from your grandchildren.

Instead, I lit a candle for you in my church. I'm talking to you in my head. And I'm sitting here missing you.

I'm wondering what you would look like. Would you have any of your hair left? Would your skinny little butt finally have showed its true DNA and started packing on the pounds like the rest of us?

I'm wondering what you would be doing. I know you wouldn't be working for that stupid company that almost killed you by itself, because they went out of business a long time ago.

I know you would be kicking all of our asses at Wii bowling. And I know you would have been first in line for Guitar Hero, then Rock Band so you could play the drums. 

And I know you would have LOVED the new Saints.

And I know you would have loved my pool.

I hate not having a big brother any more. Mom would have been able to call you when the storm broke all of her trees. And you would be able to help me help her move.

Instead, I'm missing you. Wishing you had left five minutes earlier. Or five minutes later. Or a day later. Wishing you had just buckled your damn seat belt. Wishing you were still here with us.

Wishing I could wish you Happy Birthday for real.

Lo

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