honor out of the church and deliver a speech at the reception. And something else, but my mind was racing so much, I couldn’t think of what it was. But I knew it was important.
What was I forgetting?
No matter what, I was letting him and Allison down. I’d been friends with both of them since college and had always planned to be a part of this day. A huge part.
“Go. He needs you, man. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t. And neither will I.”
“But what about the wedding? Ceremony starts in an hour,” I said, genuinely worried about the domino effect my absence could and would have. But I knew Scott was right. I had to go. There was no other choice. My dad needed me, and I needed to see him, to know he was going to be all right.
My friend Dev placed a hand on my shoulder. “We got this. Don’t worry.”
Allison’s brother, Tanner, smiled. “I’ll go tell the bride. She’ll be fine, I promise.”
“All right,” I said, patting my pockets for wallet and keys. Slipping my phone into the breast pocket of my tuxedo, I grabbed my duffel bag and hugged Scott. He patted me on the back.
“I’m sorry, man,” I said softly. “So sorry.”
“Seriously, go. You’ll make it up to me at the next one,” he said with a wink and a chuckle.
When I reached the door, Scott said with a start, “Whoa! Wait, dude.”
I turned back. “Yeah?”
“The rings.” His eyes were wide. “You have the rings.”
“No big deal,” his cousin said with a chuckle.
“Oh shit,” I said, reaching back into my breast pocket as I walked back to Scott. “That really would’ve been a disaster.”
“No kidding,” Scott said, his cheeks red. “Thanks, man. Now get outta here. You’re stinkin’ up the place.”
When I was a kid, I loved going to visit my mother at the hospital. She was an administrator at Seattle General and a damn good one. Prior to retiring last year, she was the one that everyone turned to for leadership, guidance, and structure. And being her kid had its perks. Free slices of pie from the ladies in the cafeteria, free stickers and pens from the front desk, and my own clipboard to carry around with me as I walked the halls of Seattle General with one of the most important people in the building. If I’m honest, by the age of 10 I thought I was pretty hot shit.
If only that cocky, spoiled kid had realized how scary it can actually be to walk through those automatic doors. How the sights and smells that were once so familiar could suddenly feel foreign, out of place, distant, and just…wrong. As I approached reception, I held my breath, hoping to see Betsy. Betsy Davison was one of my mother’s dearest friends who volunteered twice a week. Instead, I was greeted by an unfamiliar face. At least she seemed friendly.
“Good morning, how can I help you today?” she asked with a bright smile. As friendly as it was, it gave me no comfort.
“My father was brought in a few hours ago. Burton McTavish.”
She typed, looking at her computer screen. “Yes, I see him here. Room 307.” She grabbed a name tag and scribbled on it before handing it to me. “Do you need directions to the elevators?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks.” I clipped the plastic tag to my tux jacket, realizing how ridiculous I must have looked walking into a hospital still wearing formal wear.
He’s in a regular room. Not ICU. That’s something.
As the elevator doors opened and I stepped into the long hallway, smelling the faint odor of cleaning products, I took a deep breath, preparing myself to see my otherwise strong, tall, larger-than-life father in a weakened, vulnerable, and all too human state.
But can you ever really prepare your mind for that?
As soon as I walked through the door, I had my answer.
No. No, you cannot.
My stomach jumped to my throat as I entered his room, slowly rubbing hand sanitizer on my palms as I stared at my father. Oxygen tubes, IVs, and so many machines. All six foot three of my dad was lying helpless before me. Purple bruises covered his forehead and cheeks, and his eyes were swollen shut.
“He’s sleeping,” a soft voice said. That voice was attached to a young woman, probably my age or a little younger. She held his hand in hers as she stood to greet me. “I’m Maren. We spoke earlier.”