“Your dad was a great person. You should be proud that you’re his daughter,” the physician told me while examining my son’s throat. Reading my full name on the application form, he had asked if I was a relative of his old Professor. Confirming that I am his girl, he paid us more attention and started to share stories about his experiences when he was a trainee working with my father.I went home thinking of the excitement in the doctor’s voice while recalling his moments with his mentor. My mind revolted and I felt a squeeze in my stomach. He was a great person, yes, it’s true. I have heard it before and I still hear it from a large number of people who happened to be his patients or his students. But was my dad a great person as a dad? My inner voice protested.
An empty chair in the corner of my reception grabbed my attention, I felt like I am seeing a reflection of my heart. Deep in it there was an empty space, a painful void, which can never be filled, he had passed away as a Great Professor.
Fifteen years had passed since that evening and the chair is still as it was, only the pain grew deeper and the void became torturing.
As a daughter at the age of forty I still wonder, was it really impossible to be a Great Professor and dad? Was it truly fair to capture memories with the pupils instead of his own daughter?
He left earth as a great surgeon and I was left as a cracked soul.