Dad began visiting us more regularly.
Sometimes he came for dinner.
Sometimes he stopped by after running errands.
He never stayed too long.
He liked having his own routine.
But I noticed that he seemed more comfortable around people.
He didn't sit quietly at the edge of conversations anymore.
He joined in.
He asked questions.
He told stories.
And he laughed when everyone else laughed.
That was something I hadn't realized I missed.
One Sunday afternoon, Josh and I invited him over for lunch.
Dad arrived carrying a small bag from the grocery store.
Inside were apples and a loaf of bread.
He said he had seen them on sale.
I told him he didn't need to bring food.
He smiled.
"I know."
We ate at the kitchen table.
Josh asked him about his retirement.
Dad told him he had been thinking about cleaning out the garage.
I immediately told him not to overdo it.
He laughed.
"I can still move a few boxes."
Josh offered to help.
Dad accepted.
That was progress.
Usually, he would have refused.
After lunch, we sat outside.
The afternoon was warm.
There was a slight breeze moving through the trees.
Dad leaned back in his chair.
Then he turned his head.
A bird was calling somewhere beyond the fence.
He listened carefully.
I watched his face.
He seemed to be trying to identify it.
"Not the mockingbird this time," he said.
I smiled.
"How do you know?"
He shrugged.
"Different sound."
Josh laughed.
"You're becoming an expert."
Dad smiled.
"Maybe."
We sat outside for another half hour.
The conversation moved between ordinary things.
Work.
The weather.
A neighbor's new truck.
A small repair Dad wanted to make at home.
Nothing important.
Nothing dramatic.
But it was easy.
And that was what I had wanted for him.
Later, when Dad left, Josh helped him carry the grocery bag to his car.
I watched from the doorway.
Josh said something.
Dad laughed.
He heard him without needing him to repeat it.
I went back inside.
The kitchen table still had three coffee cups on it.
I began washing them.
Josh came in a few minutes later.
He stood beside me.
"He's doing really well."
I nodded.
"He is."
Josh dried the cups while I washed them.
Then he spoke.
"I keep thinking about how much Mom could have avoided if she'd just apologized."
I rinsed the last cup.
"Maybe she wasn't ready."
He nodded.
"I know."
He didn't sound angry.
Just disappointed.
I understood.
He hadn't wanted to lose the closeness he had with his mother.
He had wanted her to acknowledge that she had hurt someone.
Those were not unreasonable things to want.
The following week, Dad called me during my lunch break.
He told me he had gone outside that morning and heard a bird singing near the garage.
He had stood there for several minutes.
Then he said something that made me smile.
"I think I used to miss more than I realized."
I looked out the office window.
"What do you mean?"
He explained that before buying the hearing aids, he had gradually stopped noticing certain sounds.
At first, he thought it was just age.
Then he became used to asking people to repeat themselves.
Eventually, he stopped asking.
He would smile and pretend he had understood.
I felt a heaviness in my chest.
I remembered family dinners when he had done exactly that.
I remembered him looking around the table while everyone spoke.
I had thought he was simply quiet.
I hadn't understood how much effort it took to keep up.
I told him I was glad he had the new devices.
He said he was too.
Then he thanked me again.
I told him I loved him.
He said he loved me too.
When the call ended, I sat quietly for a moment.
I thought about the $4,500 we had saved.
I thought about the cruise brochures.
I thought about the birthday surprise that would never happen as we had planned.
Then I thought about Dad beneath those trees in Springfield.
His head tilted toward the mockingbird.
His face turned upward.
His smile.
I wouldn't trade that moment.
Not for a cruise.
Not for a birthday party.
Not for anything Cindy might have expected from us.
That evening, Josh came home and found me looking at the old legal pad.
The paper was still folded near the bottom.
He picked it up.
He read the sentence again.
Then he placed it back on the counter.
"Still true," he said.
I nodded.
It was.
Click here to continue reading: PART 17: The Family Eventually Stopped Talking About the Cruise, but Nobody Could Pretend the Afternoon at the Pond Had Never Happened
The Afternoon Everyone Watched My Father Fall Into the Water, and Nobody Knew What to Say
Part 16 of 20
