3WW (Amaze,Frail,Sacred): Callings

I entered the room where he lay. The priest trailed me by a step. It smelled of Pinesol and garlic. An odd combination that sent my already grumbling stomach into minor fits of nausea. On the bed lay a frail man whose healthy form I had seen only in pictures. A man with my eyes. Or I suppose I have his. His large hands rested atop his undulating chest.

The young priest circled the bed and immediately pulled up a chair, ready to perform the anointing. I motioned for him to wait. I wasn’t sure why.

This was the man who had left when I was less than a year old. Who decided he no longer wanted the commitment of a marriage or a child. Who decided to chase some ridiculous dream fighting windmills in far off places. I never could understand why my mother defended a man who had abandoned and betrayed her. But she did. She had forgiven him the moment she knew he said he had to go. I was so tired of hearing that story of the day he left. A kiss on the cheek. A promise of some greater purpose than his family.

A small Hispanic nurse entered. She smiled her dentured smile and spoke with a thick accent, ‘I am sorry to see him go. He is such good man. Are you his son?’

I nodded. I was his son. Well, at least I had been his son for all of nine months, if that. She took my speechlessness for sadness. And I wasn’t going to indicate differently. I just wanted her to leave. And she did soon after.

During one of my angsty teenage moments, I listened to my mother tell the story about how my father was traveling the world and teaching, to care for those less fortunate. The kiss on the cheek. The talk of the greater purpose. I turned on her for the first time in my life. Yelled at her. Told her she was delusional. Told her he probably had another woman, another life. And that we weren’t good enough to keep him around. I remember her reaction to my outburst only because it amazed me; she smiled. ‘I don’t expect you to understand,’ she told me. ‘But he is a good man.’

The priest sat impatiently, fidgeting. He told me he had another few patients to see. I was about to tell him to proceed when I noticed the old man’s eyes were open. I saw my hazel eyes staring back at me.

The old man turned his head slightly and looked up at the priest. ‘Can you please leave?’

The priest looked startled. ‘Your son asked me to anoint you.’

'Yes, and I appreciate his sentiment. But I don’t need preparation to die. At least not from you. I’d like you to leave. Go and give comfort to others.’

The young priest stood up, obviously annoyed. He walked out without a word. I turned to watch him go and just stared into the anaesthetized hallway, a bit stunned.

‘He didn’t want to be here anyway. I did him a favor.’

I turned back to him. ‘Yeah, it seems you grant them all the time. Like the favor you did me and my mother.’

‘I suppose I deserved that. How are you, son?’

‘Well, I’m standing in front of a dying father I’ve never known wondering if I should just walk out or watch you die. At least the latter would bring closure.’

‘I’ll be dead soon enough. You can have your closure then. Until I’m dead, which is not far off, what questions would you like to ask?’

I stood dumbfounded. Questions? Really? Now? And yet I had so many. Why I had to race in the Pinewood Derby alone. Why I didn’t have anyone to teach me how to hit. Why I had to teach myself to change the oil. ‘Why the hell did you abandon us?’ It was the question I’d always wanted to ask.

‘I had to answer a calling.’

‘A calling.’ I couldn’t think of anything else to say. ‘A calling? What the hell does that mean? Did you go save some town in Zimbabwe? What the hell does a calling mean?’

The old man’s chuckle turned into a cough. ‘I get that a lot. A calling is a gift from God.’

‘So you were called to abandon your family? Yeah, I’m sure God told you that.’

‘”Then the Lord said, ‘Go outside and stand on the mountain before the Lord; the Lord will be passing by.’ A strong heavy wind was rending the mountains and crushing rocks before the Lord – but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake – but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake there was fire – but the Lord was not in the fire. After the fire there was a tiny whispering sound.” I listen for the whispering sound.’

‘You’re a religious nutjob.’

‘Is that why I kicked the priest out?’

‘But that’s no reason to leave your family.’

‘Yes, it is. And the Lord has given me the sacred opportunity for closure.’ The old man’s voice sank to a whisper. ‘Son, I love you. Thank you for being here to make my life complete.’

With that, the old man closed his eyes. Within a minute, his heart had slowed considerably. Within five minutes he was gone.