Inside my men I hear Metallica playing Hero Of The Day and see the video someone set to clips from Gladiator and think about where I was seven years ago when I wrote:
I doubt my father will ever come to Texas again and why I think last January is his final time here.
He is human and though the chemo is working I don’t think his body will match his will. I think without the benefit of a private jet it will be too hard to get here.
It would be wonderful to be proven wrong. I would be good with that, but I am ok if I am right too.
Sometimes Your Heart Knows & Sometimes It…
I was correct, Dad never came to Texas again. His will was stronger than his body and we saw that in the hospice he ended up in 6 weeks after I wrote that post.
Looked back upon it today for the first time in years and smiled while I read my recollections of him coming to work with me as I had once joined him many years before.
Echoes Of The Past Reach The Present
I am sitting at the dining room table of my parents’ home in the same seat I occupied while growing up. It is the far end of the table facing the seat my father once occupied. There is a picture my parents, sisters and myself hanging on the wall to my left in which I am a whopping 18.5.
That kid has a flat top, striped rugby style shirt with a ZBT pledge pin on it, with a pair of 501s topped off with Reebok high tops. He is so young he has no idea about the man he will become or how he/I will look back smiling and a soft wish I could step into the picture and live it all again.
The Berlin wall still stands and the Cold War still exists. School shootings aren’t a thing and he has no idea one day he’ll write about a time when we won’t accept playing massacre bingo.
September 11th has no meaning other than being two days before his father’s birthday and there is no way he could conceive that in 30 years pancreatic cancer will snare dad in its grip and never let go.
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I flew in from Texas to connect with family from Israel and to see mom, the sisters who still live in LA and however many friends I can fit in on a short trip. I am here by myself so I have no responsibility other than son, brother and friend.
Spent a very pleasant chunk of time with the Israeli cousins walking around the Santa Monica pier, reveling in the sight of the ocean and remembering my roots as a man born on a coast.
Made my first visit of the trip to Brent’s Deli by myself and laughed when I realized some people might describe me as the old Jewish man at the deli.
Where It All Started
Drove by multiple places people could describe as where it all began and enjoyed the parade of memories.
There is the apartment of the girl from college that occupied my heart, there is the pumpkin patch where my kids would pick pumpkins for Halloween and there is the park where they played soccer same as I did.
There is the house I grew up in and the house I bought and sold. There is the office building where my first job was located and there is the building that replaced my first apartment. There is the synagogue I was bar mitzvahed at and there is the street I followed when I walked to elementary school.
There is the street next to the little league where we got caught drinking beer in a car and there is the entrance to my high school.
Intermixed are a thousand changes to the places that helped form my ideas and opinions about what home looks like.
Called one of my oldest friends before I came out to see if by chance he’d be in LA at the same time as me. We met the first day of kindergarten and I thought since the old man had figured out how to retire maybe he’d be here but he is busy doing other things on the other side of the country.
So I sit here at this table thinking it is the first time that I am not surprised Dad hasn’t shown up and recognize I have finally been here enough times without him to no longer expect him to show up.
It is a bittersweet recognition because it means I finally have made it back enough times for it no longer to be shocking that he isn’t here. It is not a bad thing, it is part of life.
His presence is everywhere as is his absence. I have so many questions, so many answers and so many stories.
I’m Just Getting Started
Sometimes when I am at the gym and I am not feeling it I’ll still add another few plates to the bar and silently call for my Dad to come watch me like I am still 10 and he is 35.
Or I’ll picture the very few times we worked out together and tell him to do another set with me.
Physically some things are harder than they were thirty years ago but some of it is getting easier again. I am lifting heavier weights again with more ease and watching my body change.
I see the outline of muscles that had been dormant coming back and feel like I am waking up from a coma.
It is interesting being home long enough to tap into the remains of the day and tying them into the present knowing I am just getting started again.
It is never too late is seen as cliche but I am living it. Tomorrow when I visit Dad I’ll tell him about it and when I go back to Texas I’ll think about all I have learned, all I have experienced and continue to focus on where I intend to take this.
I have plans. I am just getting started.
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