Date: June 24, 1990
Age: 14
Today we walked to just about every place on this card, from the bottom of the hill to the top of the steeple.
Love, Dad
After writing this entry, I noticed that I already posted this card in June 2008. Oops. That's what I get for being disorganized. I will aim to scan a different French postcard and replace this one by tomorrow. Follow this link to read about the trip, but follow below for what's running through my mind right now.
My father has used the same travel agent ever since he first moved to Miami, which was in the early-to-mid-Seventies. Considering how much he has traveled since then, she's very familiar with our family, and my brothers and I sometimes call her to book our trips, when we are trying to schedule something complicated and don't trust we won't muck it up through a travel website.
I called her last week to attempt some convoluted, yet cheap, trip to Ireland/Paris/Brussels. Well, no such cheap option exists, so in the end, I chose a roundtrip to Brussels (again?) and will take a train to Paris from there. (And here lies the reason behind blogging a Paris postcard).
During our first phone conversation about the trip, the travel agent asked me how my dad was doing. She's out of the loop, I guess, since he's too sick to travel. I told her what I thought I knew: that he was doing better, sounding stronger and more upbeat, has actually called my brothers and I for no real reason but to chat, and is supposed to start a clinical trial in Tampa.
A few days later when my trip was finalized, I spoke with the travel agent again, who said my father had called to book a flight to Baltimore--in order to explore a similar clinical trial like the one in Tampa. Interesting.
I emailed my dad and said, "I hear you're going to Baltimore?"
His response: "Yes, and D has a big mouth--It is just a 1-day trip for a medical exam."
Jesus, sorry I asked. I was ready and willing to chalk it up to my dad's insistence at keeping my brothers and I at arm's length, but he actually called me the next day to sort of apologize--not that the words "I'm sorry" ever materialized--but he said he wasn't trying to keep anything a secret, it just seems that D has always spoken openly about his travel plans to everyone--although doing so with family "would be okay." Alright, fair enough--he's right, it's not D's place to be sharing his business with everyone. But who else amongst my Dad's circle of human contact is D in touch with? Has he referred her to friends and colleagues? Because if not, my brothers and I are the only ones she would be--sporadically--talking to. My guess is that despite his disclaimer, sharing his travel plans with family is NOT okay with him. And that's fine. But don't jump down my throat over email--jump down hers, okay?
Also, this Sunday is Father's Day. Finding the right card is always a challenge, as I can't get behind the "world's best Dad" variety available. Others have pictures of golf clubs and barbecue grills--ya know, Dad stuff--and those don't really apply, either. I finally settled on a Chihuahua wearing a sombrero, saying "Muchas gracias," probably because it seemed as absurd as the state of our relationship sometimes is.
Before I had a chance to send it, Dad sent my brothers and aunt and me an email titled "Bad News." He wrote:
"Hello All,
Although I seemed to be in remission a month ago, the results of my biopsy found that the myeloma is back with a vengeance. Please don't call--I am not in the mood to talk right now. Tomorrow we are going to Tampa to see what they can do there. Will let you know when I know something."
I get he's discouraged and too upset to talk to anyone. Lord knows I've been there. But if my brothers and I understand correctly, the cancer was always going to return after that last round of chemo--around this time, too. Is it truly worse than before, like 'days are numbered' worse? Did he fill himself with false hope that it would miraculously not return?
In fact, beginning the clinical trial in Tampa was delayed because he was "not sick enough--not enough cancer cells in [his] urine." So theoretically, this now means he can begin the treatment in Tampa that has been showing promise right? Again, I yell, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?
I have this picture of my father and me from when I was five years old, putting him at 42. He's holding me, and the photo was taken at chest-height. We're not smiling, but not frowning. We look calm, like we belong together, despite my (then) blond hair and light skin offset by his black hair and Mediterranean complexion.
I was going to include it with his Father's Day card, but after that email, I wondered if it would be too sentimental. We look serious, yet still. It's a great photo, something really timeless about it.
I sent the card yesterday, and the photo remains with me, for now.
My father has used the same travel agent ever since he first moved to Miami, which was in the early-to-mid-Seventies. Considering how much he has traveled since then, she's very familiar with our family, and my brothers and I sometimes call her to book our trips, when we are trying to schedule something complicated and don't trust we won't muck it up through a travel website.
I called her last week to attempt some convoluted, yet cheap, trip to Ireland/Paris/Brussels. Well, no such cheap option exists, so in the end, I chose a roundtrip to Brussels (again?) and will take a train to Paris from there. (And here lies the reason behind blogging a Paris postcard).
During our first phone conversation about the trip, the travel agent asked me how my dad was doing. She's out of the loop, I guess, since he's too sick to travel. I told her what I thought I knew: that he was doing better, sounding stronger and more upbeat, has actually called my brothers and I for no real reason but to chat, and is supposed to start a clinical trial in Tampa.
A few days later when my trip was finalized, I spoke with the travel agent again, who said my father had called to book a flight to Baltimore--in order to explore a similar clinical trial like the one in Tampa. Interesting.
I emailed my dad and said, "I hear you're going to Baltimore?"
His response: "Yes, and D has a big mouth--It is just a 1-day trip for a medical exam."
Jesus, sorry I asked. I was ready and willing to chalk it up to my dad's insistence at keeping my brothers and I at arm's length, but he actually called me the next day to sort of apologize--not that the words "I'm sorry" ever materialized--but he said he wasn't trying to keep anything a secret, it just seems that D has always spoken openly about his travel plans to everyone--although doing so with family "would be okay." Alright, fair enough--he's right, it's not D's place to be sharing his business with everyone. But who else amongst my Dad's circle of human contact is D in touch with? Has he referred her to friends and colleagues? Because if not, my brothers and I are the only ones she would be--sporadically--talking to. My guess is that despite his disclaimer, sharing his travel plans with family is NOT okay with him. And that's fine. But don't jump down my throat over email--jump down hers, okay?
Also, this Sunday is Father's Day. Finding the right card is always a challenge, as I can't get behind the "world's best Dad" variety available. Others have pictures of golf clubs and barbecue grills--ya know, Dad stuff--and those don't really apply, either. I finally settled on a Chihuahua wearing a sombrero, saying "Muchas gracias," probably because it seemed as absurd as the state of our relationship sometimes is.
Before I had a chance to send it, Dad sent my brothers and aunt and me an email titled "Bad News." He wrote:
"Hello All,
Although I seemed to be in remission a month ago, the results of my biopsy found that the myeloma is back with a vengeance. Please don't call--I am not in the mood to talk right now. Tomorrow we are going to Tampa to see what they can do there. Will let you know when I know something."
I get he's discouraged and too upset to talk to anyone. Lord knows I've been there. But if my brothers and I understand correctly, the cancer was always going to return after that last round of chemo--around this time, too. Is it truly worse than before, like 'days are numbered' worse? Did he fill himself with false hope that it would miraculously not return?
In fact, beginning the clinical trial in Tampa was delayed because he was "not sick enough--not enough cancer cells in [his] urine." So theoretically, this now means he can begin the treatment in Tampa that has been showing promise right? Again, I yell, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?
I have this picture of my father and me from when I was five years old, putting him at 42. He's holding me, and the photo was taken at chest-height. We're not smiling, but not frowning. We look calm, like we belong together, despite my (then) blond hair and light skin offset by his black hair and Mediterranean complexion.
I was going to include it with his Father's Day card, but after that email, I wondered if it would be too sentimental. We look serious, yet still. It's a great photo, something really timeless about it.
I sent the card yesterday, and the photo remains with me, for now.
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