Daddy, I Am You

My dad and me in Milwaukee

My dad and I just spoke. We didn’t connect this weekend. This morning was a ‘make good.’

Radiation continues to kick my butt hard affecting my stomach and stamina. Only four more days of treatment then a week or so for my system to reconstitute itself. Eight weeks of chemo follow (which I tolerated well before) and donezo.

My dad and I talk about hospitals and treatment because it’s a subject we have in common.

“Geoffrey,” he began, “when you check in the hospital and they greet you by name you know you’ve been there too many times.”

My father is a schmoozer and a flirter. He has a joke or story for any occasion. You can’t be in his presence and not know who he is.

And with one poorly working eye and essential tremors every younger woman is attractive. And, basically, at 91 every woman is younger. Stef makes sure I remember his former primary care physician, “looks like Ingrid Bergman.”

Friday, as I left the “Rotisserie of Death,” I stopped to say goodbye to the radiation techs, AnnMarie (head nurse), Jessica, (dietician) and the three young women at the reception desk.

I paused as I walked out the door. Holy crap, I’m my dad.

“Daddy, I am you,” I told him Friday evening on the phone. He laughed.

You really don’t get to pick your role models. It just happens. I lucked out.

8 thoughts on “Daddy, I Am You”

  1. Knowing your dad, personally, I’d say that you lucked out, big time. I spoke to him the other day and he sounded wonderful. He even heard most of what was said. He started to get tired, so we started our goodbyes, but before we hung up, he HAD to tell me a joke. It was great. He just couldn’t hear Zel, so I had to repeat whatever she said. Love to all. ❤❤️

  2. One thing I discovered when I married my lovely bride 14 years ago is that marriage does not cause blindness. My Debby is either cool about my looking at other women or selectively naïve. I’m not sure which. But, as I “see” it, there is a huge difference between looking and touching. Also, she can look at any guy she wants to – no problem there.

  3. Geoff – the best compliment I ever got was from a co-worker who knew my dad, but didn’t know me. After he had died, I met the man, said something (though I don’t remember what it was) that was funny. He looked at me, looked at my badge, looked at me again and said “You’re Ray’s daughter, right?” Yes, I am. I’m proud to say that. Just like you’re proud you are your father’s son. Ain’t it grand?

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