PART 5 – The Words I Wrote on That Legal Pad Were the Only Way I Could Make My Father Understand What He Meant to Me

Dad read the sentence twice.

Then he looked up at me.

His eyes were wet, although he tried to hide it.

He folded the paper carefully and handed it back.

"You're going to get me crying in this parking lot."

I smiled.

For once, he didn't argue about the money.

He got into the car, and I closed the door for him.

On the drive home, he kept looking out the window.

Every few minutes, he turned toward me as if he wanted to say something.

But the words didn't always come easily.

I knew he was still thinking about the expense.

So was I.

Not because I regretted it.

Because I knew how much money we had saved and what it had originally been meant for.

Josh and I had planned Cindy's birthday for months.

We had talked about the cruise while washing dishes.

We had looked at departure dates.

We had even discussed how Cindy would react when she found out.

She would probably cry.

Then she would call her friends.

Then everyone at the beauty shop would hear about it.

That was how Cindy was.

She liked sharing good news.

And she had been expecting something special for her sixtieth birthday.

But I couldn't bring myself to feel guilty about helping Dad.

When we arrived at his house, I helped him carry the appointment papers inside.

He placed them on his kitchen counter.

Then he pointed toward the chair.

I sat down.

He tried speaking louder than necessary.

"How are you and Josh going to explain this?"

I knew what he meant.

I told him we would handle it.

He shook his head.

"I don't want you two fighting over me."

I reached for the legal pad again.

I wrote that nobody was fighting.

I wrote that Josh had agreed.

I showed him.

He read it and nodded.

Still, I could tell he wasn't completely comfortable.

Before leaving, I checked that he had the audiologist's appointment information.

The fitting was scheduled for Thursday.

He put the paper inside his kitchen drawer.

Then he walked me to the door.

He hugged me longer than usual.

I didn't mention it.

Some things didn't need explaining.

That evening, Josh was sitting on the couch when I got home.

The television was on, but he wasn't watching.

He looked at me when I came through the door.

"How did it go?"

I told him Dad had agreed to the new pair.

Josh nodded.

"Good."

I sat beside him.

For a few minutes, we watched the television without paying attention to it.

Then he reached for the remote and turned it off.

"I need to talk to Mom."

I looked at him.

"About the money?"

"About what happened. And the hearing aids."

I didn't tell him to wait.

I didn't tell him to be gentle.

I only said that I wanted him to be honest.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"I know how she gets."

I nodded.

That was part of the problem.

He knew.

He had seen it before.

He had spent years learning when to answer her and when to let things pass.

But this time, letting it pass would have meant pretending Dad's loss didn't matter.

Josh looked toward the window.

"I'll go see her Saturday."

I asked if he wanted me to come.

He said yes.

I agreed.

The next few days were ordinary in a way that felt strange.

I went back to work.

I answered calls.

I scheduled patients.

I cleaned instruments and helped prepare rooms.

People came in worried about their teeth, and I listened to them.

Sometimes I caught myself thinking about the pond.

The brown water.

Dad's wet shirt.

Cindy standing there with her plate.

Then I would look down at the paperwork in front of me and continue working.

On Wednesday evening, Dad called.

He wanted to make sure Thursday's fitting was still scheduled.

I told him it was.

He thanked me.

Then he asked whether I was sure the money wasn't going to cause trouble at home.

I told him again that Josh and I had decided together.

He was quiet.

Finally, he said he hoped the new devices would work as well as the old ones.

I told him I hoped so too.

After hanging up, I looked at the legal pad on the kitchen counter.

The sentence I had written for him was still there.

It's family money. You're family.

I left it where it was.

Click here to continue reading: PART 6: When My Father Put the New Hearing Aids in His Ears, I Realized How Much We Had Taken His Silence for Granted