It's only been one month since I got the call that changed everything. "Is this Ali Smith? Is your dad Andre Smith? I'm calling from a rehabilitation center. Your dad's had a stroke and he's been here calling your name for the last three weeks." Understand, my dad had refused to talk to me for 8 years prior. The reasons are shifty and abstract. If you asked him why, he'd probably tell you it's because i'm a jerk. That I'd betrayed him in a number of ways he was willing to elaborate on in a scathing list. So this call came with a heavy weight and filled me with fear, dread, relief, panic, hope, gratitude and confusion.
In some ways, it's all I could have ever hoped for. A chance for reconciliation even though the circumstances are shit. So far, although an excruciatingly hard process, it's proven to be a blessing I couldn't have foreseen. Life slaps you silly from every which way it can.