Tomorrow is my birthday.
Tomorrow, I turn 35.
Tomorrow, my father goes into the hospital for surgery.
Odin,
Tomorrow my father will be closer to death than he has ever been.
I do not pray to you to ask for strength or mercy.
There is nothing I can say to move your hand, to protect my father or guide the surgeon’s skill.
I do not pray to you for that.
I pray to tell you what manner of man my father is.
My father is a warrior. He fought as a Marine. He carries a scar from that battle he does not flaunt.
My father is a scholar. He has built bridges for men to cross, fountains to bring water, and healing machines.
My father is a teacher. When all others discouraged me to read tales of imagination and fantasy, he did not.
Listen to me now, Grey Wanderer.
My father is a good man.
And when he comes to Valhalla’s gate, I ask only that you bid him welcome and make him one of your Einherjar.
For when the armies of darkness come, and the Last Battle is at hand, if you need a shieldman, I would say unto my dying breath:
Let it be him. My father.
For I would have no other.