Friday Morning

It was Friday morning and it had been three days since I’d spoken with my father when he called me, but I was working and I did not answer. He called often and talked a lot about nothing, and I did not have the time that day, and as busy as I was, I did not have time to call him back, either.

That Friday three days afterwards was hot and sunny and it was the first day of the year that felt like summer, though it was not yet, technically. I was a desk salesman at a construction supply store and it had been a busy morning so far, but always around mid-morning the rush died down for a little while and there was only one customer in the store. I stood at the desk watching the customer, who was a man, look at the tools hanging up on the wall, when my phone rang.

I looked at the screen. It said “Mom”. My mother knew that I was working and she wasn’t like my father, and she did not call to talk about nonsense. I picked up the phone and went outside.

“Hi, Mom.”

There was a pause. “Mike?”

“Aunt Julie? Is that you?”

“Hi, Mike. Are you busy?”

“No, I’m outside. What’s up?”

“Can you come to the hospital?”

“The hospital? Why, what’s up?”

“You...I think...hang on one second.” The phone rustled around for a moment, and then I heard my mother’s voice.

“Michael?”

“What’s going on, Mom? Aunt Julie said I need to come to the hospital. What’s going on?”

“Can you come to the hospital?” Her voice sounded off, and shaky.

“Why? What happened?”

A second passed. “It’s your dad.”

A few more seconds passed. “What’s wrong with Dad?”

“Just come to the hospital, okay Mike? I have to go now.” The phone went silent.

I went back inside, confused and in a rush. My sales manager, Phil, was looking at me.

“I have to go Phil. My father is in the hospital.”

“What? Is everything alright?”

“I don’t know. I just have to go.”
“Of course, go! We’ll take care of it here.”

“Thanks.”

“Good luck, Mike.”

“Thanks.”

I went to the back room where I kept my lunch and grabbed it, along with my coat and my keys, and punched out.

When I got on the road, I called my wife. She worked at the local school, teaching kindergarten. She didn’t answer her cell phone, so I called the school. “Worcester Memorial Elementary School, Doreen speaking.”

“Hi, can I have the Blue Room please?”

“Sure, can I ask who’s calling?”

“It’s Colleen’s husband.”

“Oh! Okay, one moment.”

“Thank you.”

The phone rang three times, then picked up. “Blue Room, Colleen speaking.”

“Hey, it’s me. Can you leave work right now? I have to go to the hospital. It’s my dad.”

“Your dad?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened? Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know. I just need to get to the hospital. Can you leave work?”

“Yes...yes of course. Let me just get someone to cover my class for me. How far away are you?”

“I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”

“Okay.”

I got to the school 15 minutes later and she was waiting outside in the parking lot for me, and she got in the car. “Have you heard anything else?” she asked.

“No. I haven’t talked to anybody.”

“I just hope he’s okay.”

“Me too. I don’t think he is, though. I think something’s really wrong.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw her look at me. “Well just relax, okay? We don’t know anything yet. He could be fine.”

I didn’t answer, and the rest of the ride was silent. It took about 35 minutes for us to reach the hospital and it couldn’t have felt like a longer time. I parked the car and got out, walking ahead of Colleen. My hands were shaking.

When we went in the front doors I saw a reception desk, and there was a women sitting behind it, staring at her computer. I walked up to the desk. “Hi.”

She looked up with a bored look on her face. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see my father. Richard Walters?”

She typed something in and clicked away on her mouse, and her face stiffened a little. She gave me a nervous look. “Can you wait here for a minute?”

“Sure.”

She left out a door behind the desk. Colleen came in the door behind me. “What did they say?”

“They said to wait here for a minute.”

We waited for a minute and the woman came back with a nurse. “Are you Michael?” the nurse asked.

“Yes. I’m Michael.”

She looked a little sorry, and she smiled. “Come with me, Michael. And you are?” She was talking to Colleen.

“She’s my wife.” I said.

“Oh, okay. Come this way, then.”

She led us through a set of double doors to the right of the reception desk, and stopped at another desk to our left with two nurses behind it. “This is Michael Walters. He’s here to see his father.”

The two nurses looked at me. They both looked nervous. One of them spoke. “Room 204,” she said to the first nurse.

The first nurse nodded and beckoned us to follow her. We passed a few empty rooms, then rounded a corner, coming to a small waiting room with the door closed. Inside the room was my mother and my aunt.

My mother looked up. Her face was red, her eyes swollen, and she had tissues in her hand. She was sitting in one of the chairs, and my aunt was standing next to her, stone-faced.

“Where’s Dad?” I asked her. She had a weird look on her face, like a smile, but twisted into a frown somehow. She didn’t say anything.

“Where is he?” I asked. “Where’s Dad?” I turned to the nurse. “Where’s my father?” I looked back to my mother.

She took a breath and wiped her eyes with the tissue, and looked at me. “He died, Mike. Your dad died this morning.”

That was the worst day of my life. To this day, I wonder what my dad was calling about that day, when I was too busy to answer. I will never know, and I will never stop wondering.

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

There's an important lesson to be learned here. I was with my father at the end, but there were so many times in years previous that I wasn't. Times when he wanted me to visit, but I had other things to do. Being an old father and grandfather now, I'm walking in his shoes. I appreciate those who take time for me and easily forgive them when they don't. It's how life is, I believe. Don't know whether this story is true, but it's well-written and quite believable.

[D. P. Sumner]

Thank you for the kind review! It sounds like you've experienced exactly what I have (this is a true story), and so I"m sure it probably speaks more to you than it does to most. I've been trying out a new style of writing that's more raw and real, rather than the more fabricated stuff I'm used to writing.

Thanks for the review!

[Carol Cashes]

AAARRGH!! I recognize that feeling all too well. My sister, before she died, would ask me to bring Arby's, but the location was a seriously long detour to a very busy and dangerous section of town. I would say "I'm not going there! It's a death trap. You sure you don't want anything else?" She died two days later and I cannot pass an Arby's without it pinching my heart a little.
This was well written and the descriptions of the mother's face and the nurses were spot on.
Well done.