The day my mom passed… everything changed. My father became grumpier, and started to drown his sorrows. Eventually, his grumpiness turned to anger, and he pointed it towards me. He was drunk most nights, but the times he wasn’t, he would lash out at me, and hit me across the face with his hands, or a bottle, a remote control you name it… he’s most likely hit me with it. One night, his Anger went too far. He broke a bottle of whiskey over my head. I became disoriented by the impact, but I could tell, I was bleeding. After what felt like hours, the dizziness faded, and I crawled through the front door, calling an ambulance. While hospitalized, I made up my mind, that I would pack my things and leave, for good. So I went back home a few weeks later, and did just that, no goodbye—nothing, just a slam on the front door. A few days later, he left a voicemail, an apology said too late, but I didn’t answer or call back, I wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

Getting by without any help, proved difficult. I got a job at a hardware store a couple of towns away, but they didn’t pay enough for me to afford rent. I slept in my truck the first few months, until I was finally able to find a place to rent. It was a very old and crammed space, but the rent was cheap, and the neighbors friendly. After a few months, I had settled into my apartment. I had made this place my own, and finally felt at peace. No one but me lives here, no one.

I feel, lonely. There’s no better way to put it. After being surrounded by people for so long, I now long to have someone near me at all times, not strangers that come and go, but friends, maybe even a lover. Then as if my thoughts were read aloud, she appeared before me. A very beautiful woman, who was now concerned about my lack of a response. “…Hellooo?” “Hm—oh, I’m…sorry I was, lost in thought.” “It’s all good. Happens to the best of us.” “Doesn’t it?” I rang her up, and she went on her way. For a few months after that, she would come by, and we’d have a few conversations, which eventually led to a few nights out. Before I knew it, I had fallen for her, but I was too afraid to ask her out. Then one night, she asked me out of nowhere: “Do you want to start going out?” I didn’t know how to respond, so I just said the first words that came to mind. “I wanted to say that.” Then we both started laughing. We turned the tv off, and we left to the bedroom, and after some time, we fell asleep.

On one certain day at work, I got a call from her. “Hi baby, what’s up?” “I’m back from the doctor—and guess what.” “What?” “I’m pregnant.” I didn’t know what to say, so I told her to tell me where she was at right now, and said I’d be there right away. I told my manager this, and he immediately told me I was done for the day. So I got in my truck and drove back home. I burst through the front door and saw her in the living area. “Are you really?” “Yes, I’m three weeks in.” I walked over to her and took her in an embrace. “I’ll be with you, every step of the way.” After eight months, I’m standing with her in the hospital. I’m massaging her hand while she pushes, Until I hear another voice in the room. Then the doctor spoke: “It’s a healthy baby boy.” She handed him to her, and I snapped the first family photo, and slid it into a photo album.

Looking back, I didn’t know I would end up here… a wife and child, a stable job. My son is now 7 years old and in elementary school. We spoil him with lots of love and affection, and it’s got me thinking… about my mom. She passed when I was young, but I still remember her voice vividly. I recalled something she once said to me: “Take care of your father once you’re older. He might get a little grumpy when I’m gone, but even then, stay. Let him know you’re still there.” And for the first time in a while, I thought about him. He stopped sending me apologies a few months ago. I was thinking about what mom said, and it soon turned into how he was doing. And so one day, I wanted to call him. And didn’t at the same time. He’s been saying that he’s changed, that he went to rehab, that he stopped drinking. So I mustered up the courage, and called him, but he didn’t answer. My call was then forwarded to voicemail, so I gathered my thoughts, and words left unsaid, and spoke…

“Hey… Dad. It’s me. I don’t know if this number still works, or if you even check your messages anymore, but…I’m leaving this just in case. It’s…been a long time. I’ve started and erased this call more times than I can count. But I guess I need to say this, finally. Out loud. After Mom died, everything fell apart. I know she was your whole world. She was mine too. But the way you changed after… I was a kid. I didn’t understand grief— not like that. I just knew that the man who used to tuck me in at night suddenly only spoke in shouts and slammed doors. And when the hitting started… I didn’t know what to do except run. So I did. I ran, and I never looked back. Until now. I’m not that kid anymore. I’ve got a son now—he just turned seven last week. He’s got her smile. My wife says he has my stubbornness. And I work at a hardware store out here—simple job, nothing fancy, but it keeps the lights on and my hands busy. And still, some nights, I think about the house. About you… about what we lost. I’m gonna be passing through town soon. I don’t want to reopen wounds if you’re not ready. But if you are—if you want to see me— just put a white piece of paper on the front door. That’s it. I’ll see it. I’ll know. If it’s not there, I’ll understand. I will. No resentment, no anger. I just… needed to try. For my son. For me. For us. And for mom. I’ll be there in about an hour or two. I hope you’re still there. I hope you’re back to being you. I love you, dad.”

After I left the voice message, it took me a while to get there, about an hour and a half, and I was anxious the whole drive. I had not been there in years— hadn’t even called back. I just, left… without saying goodbye. It’s one of the things I regret the most. And when I grew older, had kids of my own— I’ve come to notice… the way I feel right now, was the way you were feeling, that day I left. And now I’m finding my way down the driveway. Was it always this long? On the voicemail, I had told you that I’d be coming by, and for you to leave a white paper on the front door, so that I’d know, If you wanted to see me or not. I wouldn’t have blamed you for not wanting to, I wouldn’t have. So why… why are there thousands of pieces of paper scattered across the driveway? Why does the house look like it’s been repainted white? And you’re standing on the porch already? I get out of my truck, and now we’re walking towards each other. I have a feeling I know what your answer is, and you probably know mine. “This enough paper?” “Hah, yeah it’s…more than enough.” “Welcome back.” “…I’ve missed you, dad.”