Long Distance.
Received a call this afternoon. It was my father. Haven't spoken in over two years. It never has gone well. This was different. He's dying. You can hear it in his voice. He's dying.
My wife and I were upstairs, the younger baby girl was up there with us. We were moving our bed back into our bedroom. She painted the bedroom. We were hurrying a little, I had to go to work. The phone rang. The machine answered. The phone rang again, the machine answered. When we were done I went downstairs and hit play. His voice is shaky, unsure, confused. He sounds so very old. The first message, he says he wants to talk. The second message, he says "thank you operator". Confused.
My wife smiles at me. She smiles at me with her understanding eyes. She says I should call him back. She stays upstairs with our younger baby girl. I go back down to the kitchen and use the wall phone. I'm already a little late for work. This is important.
So he answers the phone. He sounds surprised to hear it's me. He says he had trouble dialing my number, had to have the operator help him. He says he wants to see me. I've heard that before, but never from him. He says he's glad he called. I tell him I'm glad he called too. I'm really not sure if I am, glad he called. I have to tell him that though, he sounds like he's dying. I'm not that cold.
He says he has Hodgkin's, just finished up with eighteen weeks of chemo. Says his long gray hair and his beard are all gone. He says he went to the barber for a close shave and a buzz cut before it started falling out. He says he didn't want all that falling hair to clog the drains and mess up the washer. It's kind of funny, his long gray hair and the beard. This guy is well past eighty. A WWII vet who gave me nothing but a hard time over my long hair when I was a teen in the seventies.
He says he doesn't go out much these days. Says he only goes to his A.A. meetings twice a week, when he can. He's hooked up to oxygen. He drilled a hole in the floor and ran seventy feet of tubing down to his shop in the basement so he doesn't have to carry one of those bottles around with him while he's working on stuff. His machine provides the 02, and fills up bottles for travel.
I told him I had to go to work. I told him I couldn't talk for very long. He asked me to call him back on Sunday morning, when my mother is at church. I told him I would.
Things were not too busy down on The Dock tonight. I kept trying to keep busy though. I don't want to think too much about all this. I'll call him on Sunday. I'll think about it then. I will go see him as well. I suppose I should, at least once before he's gone.
My family has ghosts in the closet. Old ghosts, and some newer ones too. I don't like the secrets. I don't like the lies. I don't want to talk about any of it any more. It's all over anyway. Too much talking is just that. Too much talking ruins everything.
Sometimes long distance is a very good thing.
My wife and I were upstairs, the younger baby girl was up there with us. We were moving our bed back into our bedroom. She painted the bedroom. We were hurrying a little, I had to go to work. The phone rang. The machine answered. The phone rang again, the machine answered. When we were done I went downstairs and hit play. His voice is shaky, unsure, confused. He sounds so very old. The first message, he says he wants to talk. The second message, he says "thank you operator". Confused.
My wife smiles at me. She smiles at me with her understanding eyes. She says I should call him back. She stays upstairs with our younger baby girl. I go back down to the kitchen and use the wall phone. I'm already a little late for work. This is important.
So he answers the phone. He sounds surprised to hear it's me. He says he had trouble dialing my number, had to have the operator help him. He says he wants to see me. I've heard that before, but never from him. He says he's glad he called. I tell him I'm glad he called too. I'm really not sure if I am, glad he called. I have to tell him that though, he sounds like he's dying. I'm not that cold.
He says he has Hodgkin's, just finished up with eighteen weeks of chemo. Says his long gray hair and his beard are all gone. He says he went to the barber for a close shave and a buzz cut before it started falling out. He says he didn't want all that falling hair to clog the drains and mess up the washer. It's kind of funny, his long gray hair and the beard. This guy is well past eighty. A WWII vet who gave me nothing but a hard time over my long hair when I was a teen in the seventies.
He says he doesn't go out much these days. Says he only goes to his A.A. meetings twice a week, when he can. He's hooked up to oxygen. He drilled a hole in the floor and ran seventy feet of tubing down to his shop in the basement so he doesn't have to carry one of those bottles around with him while he's working on stuff. His machine provides the 02, and fills up bottles for travel.
I told him I had to go to work. I told him I couldn't talk for very long. He asked me to call him back on Sunday morning, when my mother is at church. I told him I would.
Things were not too busy down on The Dock tonight. I kept trying to keep busy though. I don't want to think too much about all this. I'll call him on Sunday. I'll think about it then. I will go see him as well. I suppose I should, at least once before he's gone.
My family has ghosts in the closet. Old ghosts, and some newer ones too. I don't like the secrets. I don't like the lies. I don't want to talk about any of it any more. It's all over anyway. Too much talking is just that. Too much talking ruins everything.
Sometimes long distance is a very good thing.
posted by Squarehead at 11:49 PM
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