“Dad’s in the hospital.”

The words that I had most dreaded hearing, and I didn’t even realize how much I dreaded it until that moment. I was driving home from work, putting along in traffic, when I got the call. I didn’t feel prepared. When can you ever be prepared for a phone call like that?

“He has pneumonia and can’t breathe very well.”

At these words, I felt myself beginning to panic. My eyes started to blur with tears.

“Um, ok. Should I come home?” I asked my youngest sister.

I felt sorry that she had to be the one to bear the brunt of the news. Not so long ago, it would have been me helping my mother with all the chores and taking care of the family.

“Don’t worry, he’s not dying. He’s going to be ok,” she said. As if that solved everything. But she’s young. Maybe she didn’t grasp the seriousness of the situation. Our dad is getting up in years, and I’ve noticed that he’s been slowing down a lot more.

I stifled a sob. Told her to keep me informed and hung up. I couldn’t help but let the tears flow after I let the phone fall into my lap. But I had to keep it somewhat together, as I was still driving. Yet, all I could think of was how to cope without my dad.

I’ve never been a daddy’s girl. My dad and I struggled to speak the same language, as it usually seemed like we were never understanding each other, resulting in arguments and hurt feelings. There were times, I’m ashamed to admit, that I hated him. But the reason why I hated him was because I thought that he didn’t love me. Because of this, I acted out, giving my parents a lot of grief. I deeply regret this now, because I love my parents. They mean so much to me. But when it came to my dad, there was always this awkwardness between us, and I’ve never known how to communicate with him.

As I sat in my car driving home, all I could think of was why I didn’t tell him more often that I cared about him. That I was proud to have him as my dad. That I loved him. I should have spent more time with him. I should have been a better daughter and called him everyday. I should have…. I should have… I should have…

For the next few days, I jumped every time I received a text or heard my phone ring. Sitting at work was agony, and the waiting to hear was pure torture. When I received the call from my mom that Dad was on the mend and would be going home, I felt myself unclench. All I could do was thank God that my dad was going to get better. Still, that night in bed, I couldn’t help but cry, releasing all of the fear and anxiety that had been looming. Even though my dad was ok, I could have lost him. I realized that the next time I saw him, I needed to tell him how much he means to me. How important he is. And even though we haven’t always gotten along, he’s been a pretty fantastic dad.

I’ve been blessed with a second chance at saying, “I love you.” But I’ve been reminded that that second chance won’t always be there.