February 4th has been my traditionally bad day of the year.
There are some good things about it. My Uncle and Aunts anniversary was February 4th. It is Sweet Malia's birthday, so that's nice.
Some young people I know lost their momma to Cancer on February 4th, one of them was only 5 1/2 months old. That was awful.
Tuesday, February 4th, 39 years ago, was the last time I spoke with my father. I saw him once later, but we didn't speak. He never sent a letter, or a card, or his child support payment until I was old enough he didn't have to pay for me anymore. He never apologized.
He continues to do damage. My siblings don't speak to me, and treat my mother with disrespect, because all they can see is that they were separated from their 'daddy'. I still feel his shadow behind me and look over my shoulder expecting the worst.
Next year, February 4th will be 40 years since the last time we spoke as I handed him his lunch that my mother made and he drove away to work. But it won't be Tuesday.