In the silence of other voices

It was cold when I got out of my beat up Volvo sedan, wind making the trees sigh and impelling me to to ask myself why the heck I was out there as the sun began to set and warmth quickly gave way to chill. After a mile or so, I had warmed up enough to begin to appreciate the slate grey of the lake, and the waves tossed up on the winter water. A lone fisherman stood vigil where the road crept over the water. Once a gunshot rang out in the woods-how long does deer hunting season go on in those woods? As I ran, I kept hearing my dad's voice. Hospitalized with cancer, he has recently begun to lose ground. He sounded so weak on the phone today. I had meant to go in to see him today, but due to a communications issue with my ex, was not able to do so. Tomorrow I will take Colin in to see grandpa-we will take the train to Penn Station from Paoli. Given the length of the trip and the fact that 9 year old Colin has never taken a long train ride, it seems to me that we can splurge on a cab ride from the station to Brooklyn. He is Colin's last living grandparent-and even though his life will not be as long as we hoped, as long as I wanted-he is still alive. Still able to call me "dear." Still able to be happy that his grandson is coming to see him. I have had a sometimes rocky relationship with my dad-but, in recent years, a stronger and more loving one. I cannot imagine the world without him-maybe that is a blessing-allowing us this time. Eventually the world has to do without all of us, at least here on this earth-yet Jesus promises us that we all count...and are counted. Spurred by the urge to hear his voice, I pushed my tired legs up the hill beyond the lake-looking for no good reason to call and hear that hoarse, loving voice, worn by sickness and long hospital days-and hear him say "talk to you soon" as though there was not an end to tomorrows.