It's already been a week since my flight back from Texas touched down here in California and yet my thoughts have been so jumbled I haven't been able to write about the experience. I guess to sum it up I would say that it was liberating. Early on I convinced my Dad to stay home and that I would fly out to see him after the radiation. I made the good point that it would be more frustrating for all of us. There wasn't anything he could really do, and I was concerned that Ken would then have to look after me and my Dad. That was pretty top of the mind stuff, but I've been digging around in my head and finally had to admit that I didn't want my dad to see me like that (post operation). In truth I didn't want anyone to see me like that. But after it was over there was Ken and Theresa and my amazing In-laws, Steve and Ruthie and most surprisingly my amazing buddy Daniel (who I nick-named Scooter years ago). In some ways I feel guilty for telling my Dad not to come. I wonder if I stole an opportunity from him to be a Dad. If I had it to do again, would I ask him to come? If I had it to do again I would admit that no matter how tough I acted I was scared beyond belief? The dominant voice in my head always told me that I was going to survive, but it might have been nice to have some hands to hold when the other voices where trying to chip away at me. Of course I made it through it, but today it feels like it might have been nice to let go of all of the trying to be a man crap and just have my Daddy's shoulder to cry on.
It all comes down to this: Men all want to make their fathers proud. So we go on with our lives and only try to reveal the good stuff to dad. At least that is my truth. I avoid calling him if I feel off or down. I have never turned to him for advice on deep or difficult things so that he is left with the general impression that I am tough. Truth be told I am tough. I am that way because I have made myself that way. Not wanting to show weakness or fear is my most common way of being. I charged right at the cancer and dared it to try and win. I told it from day one that I was going to be the victor in this story. I allowed my body to be carved and changed, shot up with dangerous drugs and shot full of radiation to prove my point. I only cried a couple of times and those were very private moments between Ken and I. Most of all I never confessed my fear. Never confronted it. Just told it to go away, that I had this all under control.
The trip to Texas changed me. I learned a truth that I should have known all of my life. My Dad is proud of me. In spite of all the stupid things Ive done in my life the man I have always looked up to is proud. I learned a valuable lesson of unconditional love. My father loves me. Broken or whole, rich or poor, single or partnered he loves me. I don't have to try anything or show anything, I just have to be myself. Somehow, and I never saw this before just being his son is enough. I've started calling him a lot more ofter already. I am no longer armed with the excuse of long distance charges, so why not speak as often as we like?
This trip had been a long time coming. Too long. My Step Mom (known affectionately as Momma D) had kept me up on my dad for the past several years. In fact her descriptions of how he was declining made me afraid of going home. I didn't want to see him stuck in a recliner, an old man, a future reflection of my self. In reality my Dad is getting older. I know that he turns 80 this year. But the man that I saw in Texas was not the man that I was afraid of. He still takes his bike out for morning rides and manages to make it thru the day. He even still works as a bus driver during school season. He is also smart as always. cleverr, kind and has a surprisingly open mind. In short this old dog still has some new tricks in him.
As adult children we look to our patents to see our futures. We do this without taking into consideration that we live in a much different world than they did. We judge ourselves harshly based on their successes and tell ourselves that we will never repeat their failures. I believe our fear of aging comes from what we see in our parents coupled with our own judgements. I look to my Dad now and see that 80 still seems pretty young. I am nowhere close to where I should be financially and the thought of retirement scares the crap out of me, so seeing that I still have time to get it together is a big relief. It doesn't give me any wiggle room, but at least I am not terrified.
I think that the biggest lesson that I learned while in Texas was that I want to be much closer to my Dad. There is a side of me that would like to move back there. My Dad won't live forever and the older that I get the faster the years seem to pass. , of course, have Ken to consider in this and his roots are deep where we are. It could be that the desire to move (other than the fact that I have never felt that Long Beach was my home) is just the desire to be closer not physically but honestly. To share my fears with him and let him see me as a human. To call even when I am having a crappy day. To share my failures not just my successes. To finally be his son, not just what I thought he wanted as a son (Note to self: get real, you blew that years ago by coming out and God only knows what else).
Unlike a lot of cancer patients that I meet, my fear is not of the disease, not of having my life cut short. In truth I fully expect to survive this. My fear is to fail at being the man that I was meant to be. Of reaching my goals and dreams. Of fulfilling promises that I have made along the way, especially to Ken. Dying of cancer would be easy. Living to my fullest potential of terrifying! Thanks to my Dad, I have a pretty good coach though.
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