Happy birthday to my precious Erin

It was the night of July 5, 2006, when I lay awake in bed, convinced I would not see the light of morning.

A few hours earlier, I had called a friend who would take me to my first 12-step meeting the next day, July 6. But in the detox terror that engulfed me, one thought raced through over and over as I stared at a photo of Erin in her Catholic school uniform.

“God, please give me another day so I can see my baby again.”

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He did. And today, May 7, I celebrate my only child’s 31st birthday. I expect to do so quietly, on my own. There's a reason for that. Our relationship is not what it once was.

Erin was a fun child. Happy quite often. Inquisitive, enjoyed the inside joke. Sensitive. She didn’t like seeing other kids get picked on. OK in school, but not crazy about it (like her dad). She loved animals, and animals loved her.

Her mom and I divorced when Erin was 10, and I became the every-other-weekend dad. Erin and her mom moved to Cape Coral, and I missed those teenage growth years. While our weekends were quite enjoyable (we went through about 20 DVD seasons of The Simpsons), I wasn’t around for the serious stuff.

Still, Erin and I went everywhere together. Older Chronicle readers will recall me writing columns about her, including one classic when she licked her hamster to give it a bath.

A lot of my longtime political friends still ask about Erin. She made her mark here.

Erin not only accompanied me on news events, but she also came to 12-step meetings with me. I knew she didn’t like it, but even Erin understood the significance.

We were driving back from a long day of adventure one Friday when it was close to the meeting time. I told her I wasn’t sure I wanted to go. I asked her if she wanted to go. Here’s what she said:

“No, but I’m not the alcoholic.”

Right. We went to the meeting. I stayed sober while Erin played on the swings.

I did my best to keep up with Erin’s life from afar. I got a huge bonus at work for some reason and bought a once-in-a-lifetime concert package for Erin’s favorite band at the time, Maroon 5. On Easter weekend before her 18th birthday, Erin saw her first concert, with heartthrob Adam Levine just a few feet away.
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We couldn’t visit Erin for her 25th birthday, so Deb and I sent a video message. 

Erin eventually met someone and was married in a beautiful, quiet outdoor ceremony in Southwest Florida. Erin gave birth to my grandson, Vito, in October 2021.

Slowly, Erin began pulling back. I can be rather demanding of attention, especially when I feel ignored, so my response wasn’t all that great. Terrible, now that I think about it. Tension crept into our conversations.

Then…they stopped altogether. 

We talked some after Deb died. I last saw her the day of Deb’s service, and I didn’t handle it well. (Just put that on my tombstone... “Life: He didn’t handle it well.”)

But today isn’t about me. It’s about a 31-year-old wife, mom, worker (ironically, Erin is employed in local government), friend, and daughter. My birthday gift to her is this prayer:

“Lord, please protect my Erin. Please make her feel your warmth, love, and care. Please give her husband the means to provide for her needs, emotionally, financially, and spiritually. Please let her enjoy motherhood moments with Vito and embrace daily the awesome responsibility that you’ve given her. Finally, God, let her recognize your presence and to seek you. Please bring her love every single day. I ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

I love her and miss her very much. I hope she knows that.

On the outer edge of Erin’s galaxy, a heart beats like a beacon in the distant fog. 

That heartbeat belongs to Erin’s dad. It’ll beat for her until it beats no more.

Happy birthday to my awesome daughter. She's such a blessing.

— For no reason other than I feel like it, I’m taking a three-day weekend. The blog returns on Monday. Kids, hug your parents, OK? It’ll mean more than you know.

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