In 500... (or less)

Putting the Affairs in Order

I was driving home from work when my mother called me. She was frantic, I could barely understand her.

"He's, he's in the ambulance. You have to meet us at the...you know, the place, oh God, he could hardly breathe!" It took a few more sentences to work out that my father had a heart attack.

I turned the car sharply, cutting across two lanes of traffic to head back to the hospital. I knew his health history. This one would probably get him. If I didn't hurry, I might not get time to say goodbye.

Our pastor was strolling in the door as I rushed in; I grabbed him by the sleeve.

"Hurry up, I don't think there's much time," I pleaded. 

"What's wrong, Cale?" 

"It's Dad," I said. "Aren't you here for the family?"

I could tell by the look on his face this was news to him. It turned out that he was just making his rounds for other patients who wanted someone to talk to. You know, someone with "connections".

We both started to rush past the nurse's station toward the room where my dad lay dying. Of course there was someone there ready to stop us. Authority can be a funny thing, for this nurse it took priority over people who were clearly dashing to an emergency.

"Where do you think you're going?!"

"Oh, I just like to run around the hospital for no good reason," I snipped. "What do you think I'm doing? My dad had a heart attack, so go back to pecking keys on your keyboard and let me through."

I forgot about the company I was with. My attitude wasn't about to score me any points with the pastor.

"Pardon us," he said breathlessly. "It's an emergency." That's the problem with pastors, they can't turn off the kindhearted, polite Christian when the situation warrants it.

But his diplomacy won the day, and we were past the desk without incident. 

My sister was outside the door.

"Cale, it's not good," she said. "He hasn't regained consciousness, they had to revive him on the way."

My mother was a sobbing mess. Luckily my sister was able to fill me in. He complained that his arm hurt, then fell over while he was bagging leaves. 

It explained Mom's condition a little. To Dad, the dead leaves were "mulch", to be left on the ground to feed the dormant grass. But Mom always insisted they be cleaned up, even in the backyard where they'd eventually blow into the woods and out of everyone's way. 

The pastor's prayer seemed to work, because Dad woke up. His voice was feeble and I knew he shouldn't be trying to talk. He was telling her he loved her and not to be sad. It was just his time.

Then he motioned for me. I took his hand and he pulled me in close to him.

"You need me to take care of Mom, handle all of the family stuff?"

"Yeah, yeah, all of that," he said. "But first thing, top priority..."

He pulled me down to whisper into my ear.

"I need you to delete my browser history."