Foster Further

 Yesterday was the 33rd anniversary of my father's death. Every year I do the math, and then do the math again, because it does not seem possible that he's been gone so long. For several years now I've been a wife and mother for more years than I was his daughter.  And yet, of course, I have always, and will always be, his daughter. His identity as my father, and my identity as his daughter, didn't stop just because he died. A relationship may not be possible but there is always the fact of identity.  (You see where I'm going as regards adoption, right?) So what does a daughter of a dead father do when Father's Day falls on the 33rd anniversary of his death? Spend it being quite annoyed, actually. All last week as yesterday loomed I became more and more irritated.  Each year differs slightly but generally I move through a host of moods. Some years I truly forget it and am surprised when I realize it has passed by. Other years I spend days deeply anxious about my...