Father and Son

 

He and his father had stopped talking to each other after his mother died.

The times he phoned his father, he spoke to a man who was disappearing into his memories.

Or, he was critical and overbearing, which was preferable since that was his natural personality.

Months turned into years, and he called less often because it was easier.

One day, his father called him from the hospital. He was belligerent because the doctors had told him he was dying and needed to stay hospitalized.

“I’m not dying in a fucking hospital. Come get me.”

“OK, dad.”

And he did.