You Haven't Called Me Lately

I’m standing staring out the hospital window, and behind me hear a rough male voice say, “You haven’t called me lately.”

I turn around to see my father sitting upright in his hospital bed. I shrug my shoulders and say, “I’ve been busy.”

He huffs at me, “It’s not that hard to pick up the phone or, God forbid, send a text.”

I cross my arms defensively and match his glaring stare, “You know...” speaking carefully, knowing I am about to tread into a sensitive area. “You could call me.”

He looks away, saying, “And burden you with an old man’s health problems?” while gesturing around his hospital room.

“I guess nothing’s changed,” I say.

“What are you talking about,” his emotions building.

“You were never around growing up, so why would it be any different now?”

“I told you I was working hard so you and your brother could have everything.”

I’ve heard of all this, always the same conversation, but I desperately want it to be different this time.

“But all the time?” I retort.

“Yes, all the time, I was determined to give my family everything they deserved.”

Ignoring the apparent agitation I see rising up in him, I respond with, “Just not your time,” and turn, picking up my purse preparing to leave.

Behind me, I hear, “I wanted to be there.”

I freeze and look back at him. He’s sitting there staring down at his hands, looking small, an empty shell of the man I once knew to be strong and unyielding.

“What?” Did I hear him correctly?

“I wanted to say no to all the overtime, but I couldn’t. It was more money for you, your mother and brother. That was my job as a husband and father.”

I walk over to the chair beside his bed and slowly sit down. As I sit quietly, my father continues.

“I know you kids needed more than a roof over your head, but at the time, you both appeared to be doing fine without me.”

He finally lifts his eyes to meet mine. “I never imagined that the one thing you truly desired was the one thing that money couldn’t buy – my time.” He pauses and takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry I didn’t give you more of it.” I see his eyes have begun to water, and I throw my arms around him, tightly hugging him.

Pulling away, tears streaming down my face, I say, “That’s all I ever wanted to hear from you.”

He smiles now, “I've wanted to say it for a long time, but pride and stubbornness kept getting in the way.”

Wiping my tears away, “I think I can find time to give you a call now and then.”

“I would like that very much.” He says shyly with a smile.

I stand up and walk back to the window. I can see my reflection in the glass and feel relief wash over me.

“Hey, sis, you okay?” I turn around and standing in the doorway is my brother.

I give him a half smile and say, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? You’ve been in here for a while.”

My eyes land on the empty hospital bed, neatly made with fresh linens, ready for the next patient to occupy this room.

“It all happened so fast.” My brother quickly adds, “I called you, but right after we made it to the hospital, Dad had already passed away. I know you weren’t on best of terms, but I’m sorry you weren’t able to say goodbye.”

I walk over and give my little brother a big hug. “It’s okay,” I whisper in his ear. I pull back, studying his wrinkles and grey hair. “When did we get so old?” I say with a smirk.

This comment makes him smile, “You know, I’m not sure.”

“Not only have I not been talking to Dad, but I hardly talk to you anymore. Let’s change that.” I loop my arm in his, and we turn to leave the room, closing the door on the conversation I always wanted to have with my father.