There it sat, centered on my plate, gray and lifeless, fresh from the oven. A classic baked steak with no sear whatsoever, straight from the nightmares of many children around the nation. I cut into it and took a bite. It was chewy and lacked flavor, yet I was in heaven.
My dad made the worst steaks. He always had. He could cook a lot of things well but steak assuredly wasn’t one of them. For a couple weeks we had planned this dinner. My family were off traveling for the holiday and Christmas with my dad sounded perfect.
His health had begun spiraling over the previous couple months. I knew time was limited. At this time I figured it was a matter of 2 or 3 years left, maximum. This inspired me to jump at the opportunity to sit with him on Christmas last year and eat a steak together.
Why request a steak if it was so awful? Thats an easy answer for me. I was a vegetarian for 28 years until a month before this Christmas. There were three meat foods I remembered from my childhood. Bacon, elementary school cafeteria chicken patties, and my dad’s steak. Two of those for very different reasons than the latter. For nostalgias sake, I knew I needed to have one of those steaks.
I didnt know then, but it would be our last Christmas together. He was fatigued very early in the day and in some pain but in good spirits. We sat together watching the old western, Wagon Train, and shared stories. There was a lot of silence too, as talking would exhaust him and he needed time to recover. There were a few moments where I thought i’d break emotionally but I held it together. He deserved that comfort.
My dad’s kitchen was very small. He lived in senior apartments, so if you’ve ever been to one you know what I mean. They’re designed small intentionally to help the senior function. Less space to travel, less work to clean, etc.
Even in such a small space he had to rest between each and every task. I realized then why he had lost so much weight. He wasn’t eating. It was too hard for him. I hadn’t known, and it broke my heart. He would never tell us either. He wanted his kids and grandkids to live full lives and be present with our families, but damn we could’ve helped. We could have ordered him food. Unfortunately, He also couldn’t taste. Everything tasted bad now. Even icecream he said. He was finally opening up about his struggles.
We spoke for hours about my son and my daughter. All that they were up too. He showed me his art and filled me in on family news. Then we ate. It was the most incredibly awful steak I have ever had. I loved it. It meant the world to me. What I wouldnt give to sit down with him again.
The spiraling intensified and by February, he was gone. I don’t even begin to know what life is without my dad in it. I want to succeed and make him proud. How would he define that? Be the best father and husband I can, thats it. Spend time with my family. Make it a welcoming place for their friends like he did for mine. So that’s what i’ll do.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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From The Good Men Project on Medium
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Photo credit: WesternCanoeKayak on Unsplash
