The Late Call…

**Diary 12May2024**

It was my thirtyfifth birthday, and the whole evening turned into a rehearsal of old grudges. Id told Ethel not to invite anyone, Dont you dare bring them in, not under any pretense! she replied, But its your birthday, Stan, a milestone, you cant turn people away. I snapped, I dont want to see them anyway.

Ethel settled beside me, her hand warm and tensealways that way when my parents came up.

My brother James called. He asked if he could drop by, she said.

Jamesjust one. No one else, I muttered.

He said Mums been crying. She wants to see you.

Let her cry. Where was she when they threw me out of the house? When I spent nights crashing at friends places? The memory rushed back. Second year at university, a disastrous exam period, my fathera retired colonel with a steelclad codehad shouted, Disgrace the family, and youre done. I fled, got nowhere, and disappeared.

You managed to pull yourself together. You finished another college, found a job, Ethel reminded me.

On my own! No help! And Harrymy brotherlater bought a flat, a car a pet!

Dont be angry at your brother. Hes not at fault.

Im not angry. I just dont want my parents hovering at my door.

Ethel sighed. It was the same old deadend conversation.

Later that evening I washed the dishes, thoughts drifting to my mother, whom I hadnt seen for three years before she slipped away. Id been bitter thenher endless lectures, the random punishments, the humiliations. Id moved to Manchester and changed my number.

Then my aunt called: mother had died of liver disease, a single stay in a hospital ward.

Even now, in the night, I hear her voice: Ethel, forgive me, and she hangs up the receiver.

What are you thinking about? I asked, hearing Stans arms wrap around me from behind.

About Mum, I whispered.

You still beating yourself up?

I cant stop. I should have come back, at least to say goodbye.

She was making a fuss over your scholarship, Stan said.

But she was ill. A love of strong drink is a disease in itself.

And thats an excuse?

No. Still I could have forgiven her. Now its too late.

Stan turned me to face him.

Stop torturing yourself. You did what you could. You saved yourself.

And lost your soul.

Nonsense. You have the brightest soul I know.

He kissed my temple, and I leaned into him. He didnt understand how it feels to live with a heavy conscience.

We decided to keep the celebration at home. Fifteen guestsclose friends, colleagues, James with his wife. From the morning Ethel bustled about the kitchen: salads, hot dishes, a cake ordered from a bakery in Leeds. Stan helpedchopping veg, setting the table.

Is Harry definitely coming alone? I asked between tasks.

He promised.

Alright.

By seven oclock the guests began to arrive. James turned up at halfpast seven, followed by two strangers squeezing through the doorway.

A greyhaired man, upright as a flagpole, in a dark suitmy father. Beside him a petite woman in a floral dress, clutching a wrapped parcel.

Stan froze, glass in his hand.

Whats this about? I whispered.

Stanley, dear my mother stepped forward. I didnt invite you.

We came on our own, my father barked. We have a right to be here!

No right at all! James, whats this nonsense?

Brother, calm down. Theyre my parents! James tried to intervene.

I dont care! Get out!

The room fell into a awkward silence; some guests clutched glasses, others plates.

Stan, dont, Ethel pressed his hand.

No, I must! he shouted, rising. Youve ignored me for ten years! You missed my wedding, denied my grandson! And now you turn up?

My intention was only to wish you happy birthday, my mother offered, extending the parcel. From us.

Stash your greetings away! I need nothing from you!

Stanley, stop this tantrum! my father roared. Behave like a man!

How did you raise me? To cast me out when I stumbled?

You disgraced the family!

I was a student! Just an average student who flunked a term!

Because of parties and girls!

And thats a reason to throw a son out?

My mother wept. My fathers face flushed.

We gave you a lesson!

You broke my life! If it werent for Ethel, for my friends, where would I be?

Dont exaggerate. You survived!

Yes, I survived without you! And Ill keep on surviving!

James tried to mediate. Everyone, calm down. The guests

Let them leave! Stan turned toward the door. Both of you, out!

My father straightened even more. Very well. I now know I made the right decision. All our assets will go to James. Every penny! And younothing. An empty slot!

I couldnt care less about your money!

Well see what you sing when were gone.

Off you go, then!

The parents left. Mother sobbed, father trudged away with a heavy stride. James chased after them, pleading, trying to persuade.

The room fell silent.

Sorry about that, Stan told the remaining guests. Family drama.

Its alright, it happens, someone replied, trying to ease the tension.

But the celebration was ruined. The guests slipped away quickly, leaving only James, pale and dejected.

What did you bring them for? I asked, exhausted.

I thought youd reconcile. Mum asked me to.

Let her ask all she wants. Im indifferent.

Brother, thats not right. Theyre old now.

And what? Old age is a getout?

My father spoke seriously about his will. Hell leave you nothing.

And thank heavens. I dont need his handouts!

James left. Ethel quietly cleared the table. I collapsed onto the sofa, my face buried in my hands.

Did I do the right thing? I wondered aloud.

I dont know. But I understand you, Ethel said, sitting beside me and hugging me.

They didnt even apologise. They came as if nothing had happened.

Pride wont let us admit it.

My pride? Could they have trampled me?

She held me tighter. You cant be trampled. Sometimes sometimes its better to forgive before its too late.

Hows your mum?

Fine.

Thats another story, Stan. Your mother was ill. Mine just harsh people.

Maybe. Or maybe they just dont know how to love properly.

Three years later, a routine morning, I was getting ready for work when the phone rangJames again.

Stan, dads in hospital. Stroke.

Something inside me snapped.

Seriously?

The doctors say it might be irreversible.

I see.

Are you coming?

I dont know.

Stan, hes your father. No matter what.

I hung up. Ethel watched me, eyes asking.

Dads on the brink.

Go.

Why? He doesnt want to see me.

And you? Do you want him to die that way?

I was silent, recalling childhood bike rides, fishing by the lake, his firm hand guiding me through the first school gates with a massive satchel.

When did the protector become a tyrant?

Go, Ethel urged again. Later will be too late.

The hospital smelled of antiseptic. A frail, silverhaired woman sat in the corridor, her eyes hollow. She saw me and clutched at her chest.

Stanley! Youre here!

She embraced me, while I stood like a statue, mute.

Hows dad?

Bad. The doctors theyre not giving us much hope.

Can I see him?

Hes unconscious, but they say he can hear us.

The ward was starktubes, drips, monitors. The onceformidable colonel was now a frail old man.

I sat beside him, took his withered handlight as a feather.

Dad, its me. Stanley.

Silence, broken only by the soft beeping of machines.

I I need to say this. Ive been angry for years. For throwing me out. For the indifference. For loving Harry more than me.

His hand trembled. Was it my imagination?

But you know what? I forgive you. Hear that? I forgive you for everything.

His eyes fluttered open, cloudy yet recognisable.

Dad?

His lips moved. I leaned in.

…forgive… a barely audible word slipped out.

I forgive you, Dad. Its alright now.

He closed his eyes again, his face finally relaxed.

I stayed, talking about work, about my own family, about a grandson hed never meet. He passed away quietly that night, as if waiting for the apology hed finally heard.

After the funeral, Ethel and I sat with tea, the house humming with stillness.

How are you? she asked.

Strange. I thought Id feel something, but inside its empty.

You did the right thing by coming.

You know, he said forgive for the first time in his life.

My pride crumbled in front of a strangers gaze.

My too.

Ethel lifted her head. Stan, forgive yourself for Mum. She wouldnt want you to keep suffering.

How do you know?

Because parents love their childreneven the ones like my own father. In their crooked, painful ways, they love. And they can forgive everything.

She broke down in tears. I pulled her close, holding her tight.

Were both fools, clinging to old wounds, chewing on ourselves. We should have just just forgiven.

Now we know.

Its late for them. But were alive. We can live without that burden.

Outside, snow fellfirst fresh flakes of the year, pure and white. Like forgiveness. Like a new page.

I think of my father now, wondering how many years we lost fighting each other. At least I managed to say the words before he went. Thats something.

**Lesson:** Pride may keep us chained to old hurts, but forgiveness frees the soulso be wise, let go, and cherish the moments you still have.