Today we remembered and celebrated my dad, on the first of his birthdays we will be celebrating without him, in many small, familiar ways. A dinner he would like, drinks he would sip, trinkets he might find fun, stories of his quirks.

And whether it was entirely on purpose or not, I spent the day steeped in art he taught us to appreciate.

The image is a combo of a painting by one of his favorite artists, Winslow Homer, and a photo of the movie we’re watching “with Dad” right now, Gettysburg. He liked to tell us, every time, when the shot came in, in the 1,000 or so viewings of Gettysburg since childhood he talked through, at exactly the movie shot inspired by the painting.

He would repeat the dialogue he admired word-for-word, with its cadence and repetitions. He would dissect the great acting and actors, and comment on writing and cinematography. Talk about how the history inspired the art, the historical figures inspired the poetry. Hum along with the soundtrack or tell tales of where that song came from.

And as I came straight from our Tlingit opera rehearsal – inspired by history and the culture he loved so much – I can’t help but own how much of what I do every day was grown with gifts from him. I love working in the arts, and it’s not lost on me how much of that love was fostered and shaped by him.

I’m also terribly sad today that I feel his absence all that much more. Because he was such an influence on everything I did, it’s sometimes an hour-by-hour reminder that he’s not here to share it with anymore, critique it, create and collaborate with, gift art to and from, to text at midnight some random script question he will know the answer to.

So today I go through lots of moments and activities to feel closer to him, while simultaneously feeling further and further away. I’m so aware, on this day that would be his birthday, of all the gifts he gave us through a long and rich life. And I’m so sad he can’t still be here sharing them with us.