Today is my father’s 96th birthday.

It’s just over a year since he was last at home. Just a week or so short of a year since his arrival at the Oahu Care Facility, a skilled nursing facility in town, after being discharged from Queens.

We plan on celebrating with a mid-day visit, armed with a batch of my sister’s cupcakes. She bought him a new t-shirt. I’m taking a message from one of his boating friends at Ala Wai Harbor, and I’m taking a camera, but otherwise going empty handed. I can’t think of a present that says more than our simple presence.

In honor of the occasion, I hope that they’ll have him up, dressed, and out of bed.

I made a Sunday morning visit, timed to catch him just before lunch. I thought that would assure that he would be awake and probably out of bed.

No such luck.

He was in bed. His t-shirt had a message printed on the pocket: “I made it happen”.

He was sound asleep, mouth open, under a single sheet. I could see that he wasn’t dressed.

Often he’ll wake up when he hears me come in. Yesterday wasn’t one of those days.

I wanted to shake him awake, but I hesitated. I can’t say why. I guess I’ve got mixed feelings dealing with his slowly worsening memory and declining overall abilities.

I think he’ll understand his birthday, and he’ll laugh at realizing how old he is, and he’ll shake his head and, with an aside, recall the long life he’s experienced. And he will enjoy the cupcake, I’m sure of that.