They say it's never too late...

My Dad died in the year 2000...myelodysplastic anemia. You could win at Scrabble with that word. Basically his bone marrow stopped making red blood cells. It finally got to the point where he was needing to have blood transfusions once a week. There is no real cure for this syndrome. Eventually, you just die.

For all intents and purposes though, he died in 1969. That was the year that he decided that he had to leave his hometown in order to avoid the legal repercussions of my mother's attempts to collect back child support. Fearing arrest, he just left... left me and my brother and sister, left his then wife and stepchildren, his mother and brother and... disappeared. I was 13 and was briefly living back in my hometown while my stepfather was serving in Vietnam.

In 1972 we moved to Georgia and I graduated from high school, left for college and later went to work for the company I was with for over 32 years. After many years of working, my job eventually required me to travel all over the country. At every hotel room I occupied, I would pull out the telephone book and look up my last name wondering if I would find a listing that contained my Dad's first name. I never found it. I wondered where he was...wondered if he was even still alive.

In 1987, I received word from the lady that owned the nursing home where my Dad's mother was living that my Dad's whereabouts might be known. I called my uncle (my Dad's brother) and asked him if he knew where my Dad was. He clearly didn't want to talk to me about this...he was very evasive. His wife came on the phone and I pressed her for an answer. She finally admitted that they knew where he was. She went on to say that he was still "hiding" from my mother out of fear of being arrested. I told her that my mother was dying in a hospital in Florida...she had stopped pursuing him 17 years earlier. I told my aunt that I wanted to call him. She said that she would have him call me. When? Tomorrow night.

The next day at work I could not concentrate on anything. All I could think about was that I was going to speak to my Dad after nearly 20 years of not knowing if he was even alive. When I got home from work I was so nervous that I couldn't even eat supper. I was too eager to hear the phone ring. He never called.

I called my aunt back and asked what was going on. He didn't call? No. I told her that she obviously had his phone number...why not just give it to me? She refused. She promised she would have him call me. So I waited, and waited.

Then the phone rang. I almost jumped out of my skin. I answered the phone and the voice on the other end said "Michael?" I said, yes, it's me. And then we talked. It was a bit strange...and a bit awkward. I was now 31 years old with a wife and child. I hadn't spoken to him since I was going through puberty. Our conversation wasn't a typical father/son conversation...but it was a start.

The conversations continued and they became more natural feeling. Finally, I scheduled a trip to New England so that I could "meet him" face-to-face. The nervousness I had prior to that first phone call came rushing back as I waited in the hotel lobby bar for him to arrive. He finally came in and we hugged and kissed and both cried a little. I was finally reunited with my Dad. It didn't matter to me that he had failed to provide the child support he should have, that he had run off to who-knows-where. He was here and I could embrace him. I knew how the father of the prodigal son felt. My brother and sister also reconnected with Dad and had their own reunions with him. I had a few more opportunities over the next 12 years or so to see him including one time that included my wife and two children. I am so glad they got to meet him in person.

Maybe you have been estranged from a loved one for some reason. Maybe the circumstances are quite different from mine. Doesn't matter. Maybe a lot of time has passed... maybe there has been a lot of water that has flowed under the bridge. Doesn't matter.

11 years ago, I lost my Dad for the second time. But I am so thankful for those 13 years that I was able to be son and he was able to be Dad again.

It's never too late. Until it is too late. Do it...now. Pick up the phone...get in the car. Make the first move.

I love you Dad...and I miss you still.