Page 26 of All or Notching
I bristle, but nod.
“Congratulations. Are you not happy about becoming a father, Son?”
“To be honest, I don’t really know. I never planned to have a family.”
“Why not?”
I turn to look at him, sure my shock at his question is blatant. “I want to be there when my family needs me. This job comes first. Nobody knows that better than you, Dad.”
He drops his chin to his chest, closes his eyes, and sighs. It’s a moment before he speaks again. “Don’t make my mistakes, Son. I missed out on so much because Iletthe job take control. It didn’t have to be that way. Even medical professionals are entitled to a life, to a family.”
“How can you say that? The long shifts, the nights, the emergencies—they took you away from us when we were kids. You missed school events, games, hell you even missed Christmas more than once or twice.”
“I know. And I regret missing every one of those. And then when your mother lost the baby, the guilt ate me alive. I chose to stay away after that. By the time her health failed her, it was too late. I had so little time left with her. I’d lost all those opportunities to make memories. If I could do it all over again, Tristan, my priorities would be different. Yes, with the nature of the job being what it is, and the oath we take, I still would have missed some of those things, but not all of them.”
“Lauren needs somebody who can be there for her.”
“That can be you, Son. If you want it, and if you’re willing to make your family a priority.”
“How?”
“Find a way to do what you love and have what you love. If you want it bad enough, you can make I work. It may mean you don’t go after that next promotion, or you shy away from a particular speciality. You switch shifts with other staff members. You actually take your vacation time. There are ways to make it happen if you want it. Even if the number of hours you spend with your family are fewer than you like, you make the most of them.That’swhen you make the memories, Tristan. And they will be even more meaningful because you made the time count.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Hey, learn from my mistakes. The one thing you can’t get back is time. And it does go quickly. She seems very nice by the way.”
“She’s wonderful.”
“Do you love her?”
I don’t even hesitate. “I do.” Now I need to tell her that. I need to tell her I want to make this work. I don’t know how yet, but I will find a way.
“You must decide what you want more—the woman and child you love or a fat paycheck. But trust me, a fat paycheck may be able to keep you warm at night, but it can’t give you hugs. It can’t console your tears. It can’t provide you with advice. It can’t keep you company when you need it. It can’t love you back.
“Go to her, Son. Talk to her. I’m guessing she’s scared right now. That baby is coming soon. First babies are terrifying when you don’t know what to expect. She shouldn’t be alone.”
We both stand. “Are you going to come with me?”
My father shakes his head. “You go be with the mother of your baby. Let me know how it goes. I’ll come by later to check on things.”
“You’re going to be a grandfather,” I remind him.
A proud expression comes over their face. “I am. And I can’t wait to meet my grandbaby, so don’t you forget to call me.”
“I won’t.” I go to shake his hand, but he pulls me into a hug instead, catching me off guard. I haven’t been this close to my father in years. I realize what I’ve missed out on as well. I could have asked my father to be there for us. Insisted even. But after mom lost that baby, I blamed him for it. It looks like maybe we all did.
I turn and jog back to the hospital entrance. I greet a young new mother being wheeled out by a staff member while her partner carries a sleeping baby in a car seat. That’s going to be Laurel and me one day soon.
Kicking into higher gear, I hurry to the elevator, jab at the up button, and wait impatiently for it to arrive. By the time I reach the maternity floor, I’m excited, edgy, scared shitless, and anxious. I’m feeling it all, but mostly I want to be with the woman I love.
I practically race down the hall to the room I left her in, coming to a sliding stop at the door, nearly bumping into an orderly exiting the room. This is becoming a habit. “Sorry.”
“No problem.”
I walk into an empty room. Glancing around, I spin and call to the young man ambling down the hallway, pushing a laundry cart. “Excuse me, did you see the woman that was in here?”
“Nope. Sorry, dude.”