The strongest man in the world

My son and the strongest man in the world

“The strongest man in the world”

That’s been my fathers line ever since I can remember. For 45 years every time I’ve asked my father how he is, its been the same response given in the same tone of voice. The strongest man in the world.

My father is not the type of man that suffers from “man flu”. In fact if he’s ever been sick with a real cold or flu, he’d just cough, sneeze and say “I’m the strongest man in the world.” Mind you it didn’t stop him from carrying around the neatest selection of Panadol, cold and flu tablets and antacids in his car that you’ve ever seen. But that was organisational rather than medicinal. My dad is rather pedantic, just like his youngest daughter (that would be me).

Last night he called me from his home in South Africa. How are you?” I said
“Strongest man in the world” he replied.

But what followed next revealed the chasm of distance, the true heartbreak of living in a different country from the strongest man in the world.

We hadn’t been there to see that he was feeling breathless, we hadn’t chatted to him about or even known to ask him what the doctor said when he went for a check up. We hadn’t anxiously awaited the results of his angiogram. We just heard the end result – he’s having bypass surgery this week.
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Mentally I am already packing my bags to go see him, thinking of how I can organise everything at home to be with him. Should I be leaving my mother and sister for the Jewish New Year this week or should I be flying on the first plane to South Africa?

He’s the strongest man in the world, my dad. He says we shouldn’t worry and I’m sure that flying to see him in hospital is not ideal because I know he never wants me to see him weak and vulnerable. He never even wants to tell me when he’s sick.  I am sure if it wasn’t for his wife he wouldn’t have even “worried” us with this upcoming surgery. He wants us to believe he’s the strongest man in the world and he would rather I be there when we can actually spend some time together. Not when he’s lying recovering from open heart surgery. Who ever thought a sentence could be so hard to write?

And I feel immediately like we don’t spend enough time together and I feel the huge distance between us. He knows how much I love him and I know that I’m his favourite – just like my sisters believe they are his favourite (even though I’m right and they’re not). I feel the pain of not having the every day with him, the quick catch-ups, the weekly dinners, the little things.

I know he cries when he gets off the phone and I have told him about the amazing things Little Pencil has been doing and he knows that my child is growing up without his physical presence in his life. I know that I need to be a better daughter to him – that telling him I love him once a week over the phone isn’t enough. And I feel the distance that I blame for stopping me.

Today everything made me think of him, the clothes in the shops, the food on my plate, the music on the radio, the tears of my sister, the voice of my son. My father seemed to be everywhere, but he was nowhere I could be with him today.

He doesn’t even know it’s Fathers Day in Australia today. He just happened to choose the right time to remind me how grateful I am for the father that he is and how much I miss him.

Now if we can just get through this week because it’s only 150 days before we celebrate his next birthday TOGETHER in Australia.