Day 2 of ‘A Journey’.
We’re an East Coast family. My Moms family – Massachusetts and New York. My Dads family – Connecticut, New York. My Step Moms family – Philly. All of our ‘East Coast family’ did what comes naturally … they migrated to Florida. Me … I’m all Florida, born and raised, with a couple years here, couple years there. Having a split family growing up I moved around a bit. All East Coast with a short bounce to California.
Something that comes with the territory, I mean, East coast territory, is a love for a great sandwich. Some say Subs, some Hoagies, but any way you say it, a great sandwich from a sandwich shop is an instant walk down memory lane. I’m finding that these days with my Pop are flooded with memories.
Dad and I love to fish. Growing up, especially given the often complicated dynamics of a split family, fishing was always a special time for us. An escape from it all for me, fishing just became a quiet reservoir for me. Still water.
I remember stopping in at one of our favorite shops, Albert’s, to order up a couple of meatball subs before we hit the water. Walking into a place where there really was a guy named Dom who’s stare punched you in the face when you walked in. White kitchen pants and a white undershirt, stained with sauce.. ‘Gravy’ to call it right. Dom would give my dad a smirk along with a couple of familiarities they would exchange. He was a regular, a local. My pop makes friends with people when he goes out, and loves to engage with the people he does business with. They all remember him when he comes in and know exactly what he gets. Dom made a great sandwich. I remember sitting at a picnic bench with Dad crushing a meatball sub before we went out on the water to drop a line in. Quiet. Conversation without words.
Day 2 in the chemo room. The room is not as full today. All different folks in here besides my Dad and a lady sitting by the window, she was here last week. We changed areas today so dad could get a chair that had all the gear on the right side. Have to switch sides every week. We’re in the biggest part of the room today. More chairs for more people, but today there are a lot of empty chairs. A little nicer to have more room, but a little eerie all the same. Dads into a book he likes a bunch. Then he’s sleeping. Another reaction to the drugs brings everything to a halt for a bit, they all rush in to manage it, then they get the drip going again. All is going fine now. A little progress already, at least in the way Dad feels. Some of the lymph nodes have shrunken just enough that he can feel the difference. He can breathe a little better when he sleeps and his voice doesn’t sound so raspy this week. Good stuff. I sit back and remember great times, a lot of fishing memori
es, along with a trip to New York and Connecticut where we dug for clams. I have a picture of that one. One of my all-time favorites. I can’t remember a sandwich that far back, but I’m pretty sure we put some down, being in New York and all.
I told Dad we weren’t eating hospital food this week, last week it wasn’t so good. I asked him what he might want for lunch; “hey Pop, how about a sub?”. I convinced him to try one that he hadn’t yet. We’re in the chemo room with a #14 plus provolone. He loves it. I love it. I love my dad. A lot of empty chairs, a great sub and great memories. Conversation without words.
