My Father Finally \u2014 Part 2<\/p>\n
I had slept only two hours on a narrow cot at base when Dad\u2019s call came through. Outside, the morning air was bitter, and snow had covered the vehicles from the night before. I carried my coffee beyond the building and answered. His voice sounded different. Smaller. \u201cI did not know it was like that,\u201d he said. I told him there was nothing to apologize for knowing, because I had never made it easy for him to know. I had spent sixteen years keeping my deployments, rescues, injuries, and losses separate from family life. I explained that I had stayed behind after the rescue because three soldiers needed someone beside them, and the little boy, Hank, was terrified and would not stop shaking unless I talked to him. I had not stayed away from home to punish Dad. I simply had people who needed me.<\/p>\n
Trevor called that afternoon. He admitted he had been proud and ashamed at the same time. \u201cI never asked you to stay away,\u201d he said. I believed him. A few days later, a card arrived from Hank\u2019s family. On the front was a crayon drawing of a tall person in a green coat holding a little boy\u2019s hand. Hank\u2019s youngest granddaughter had signed her name beneath it with a crooked H. I pinned the card above my desk. It was the first Christmas card I had received in years that seemed to understand exactly what I had been trying to do.<\/p>\n
In January, I finally flew home. Dad opened the door himself. He did not mention the broken wineglass or the television report. At dinner, he placed an empty chair beside his own. When Trevor\u2019s in-laws asked about my deployments, Dad did something he had never done before: he stayed quiet and let me answer. I told them about the rescue without medals, dramatic details, or a title. I told them about the fear, the exhaustion, and the people we could not save. When I finished, Dad looked down at his plate and said, \u201cI should have asked years ago.\u201d I smiled. \u201cYou\u2019re asking now.\u201d<\/p>\n
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