It has been years since I have heard from my father.
My sister was visiting and she received a text and then a phone call from her son. We were sitting in my living room when they got into a tussle over a credit card charge. It escalated quickly and she told him to get out of her house before she returned home to Austin. If he was not out, she promised that she would call the police. My nephew was 17. A very young 17. I would not have believed it, except I was there.
My nephew moved out of his home and moved in with his father. This enraged my sister who had instructed her ex NOT to allow their son to move in with him. Punishment ensued and her ex and my nephew eventually moved out of state. The move was not good for my nephew, he had no contact with his mother and his education suffered. After almost a year he asked if he could move in with us.
Because he was my nephew and because he was vulnerable and hoping for a reconciliation between him and his mom I said yes.
CUE DRAMA,
but the drama is not relevant to the story.
What is relevant is that my sister deftly used the circumstances to turn our father against me. One phone call from her and he ended all contact with me. I called. I wrote letters. NOTHING. I do not know if he opened any of the letters. He also cut all contact with my children.
It seems forever, it seems yesterday, has only been four years?
TODAY THE PHONE RANG. IT WAS MY FATHER!
I said hello with great enthusiasm.
Maybe too much enthusiasm.
The phone screen lit up, “GRANDPA BEN.” So much adrenaline. I was filled with hope and trepidation. Maybe the womanfriend was calling to tell me he was dead? Maybe my Daddy was calling to do the dance we have done so many times before. The dance where we pretend nothing painful has transpired and we begin anew?
When I saw his name I knew that I was gonna dance the dance and be thankful he called.
I answered, “Hi! How are you?”
He said something I could not quite understand. He asked for Lou.
It was also a wrong number. He did not intend to call me.
I said, “This is Gwen.”
He asked for Lou again.
I said, “This is your daughter, Gwen. This is Gwen. How are you?”
He stopped talking.
Through the phone, I heard his womanfriend say,
“She is still on the phone. Do you want to talk to her?”
Immediately, I hollered (he is hard of hearing) into the phone,
“I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!”
My Daddy replied to his womanfriend, “No.” and hung up.
There were at least two “I love you!s” before he hung up.
Maybe three.
I don’t know if my father heard me. I think HE heard me.
I know the womanfriend heard me.
My 90-year-old father accidentally called me
and before he hung up
I was able to tell him that love him.
So, what does this mean?
It means that, quite possibly, the LAST words my father hears from me before he dies are my enthusiastic I LOVE YOU!s.
It means I am going to write another letter and tell him how good it was to hear his voice. It means I am opening myself up for rejection. Again.
I told him I love him.
That is a win!
As I type this I am spinning between the happy dance because I heard my father’s voice and grief that I allowed my sister to steal so very much from me. (She was not alone in this. My father was of sound mind when she called. He made his own decision.)
This wrong number is such a tremendous gift.
I told my Daddy that I love him.
Surely somewhere deep inside himself, he knows. And if he forgot maybe this will jog his memory. Maybe it opens the door for the dance to begin again.
I SPOKE IT OUT LOUD!
To him.
I LOVE YOU!
I am so very very thankful.
This is NOT what I planned to write about today.
I had it all planned out. Plans be damned!
Thank you for bearing with my emotional soup of gratitude and grief.
Also – not what I planned to write about but relating to the business of art – I am finishing up an electronic press kit. Just need to find a place to insert the photographs of my work hanging at the Texas White House Bed and Breakfast in Fort Worth, Texas. (One of the best in Texas!) When I get it done I will send you and post the link. You will let me know what you think and maybe you will be inspired to pass it along.
Happy dance.
Tears.
Back to work.
Plan the work.
Work the plan.
Chase rabbits!
MY DADDY CALLED! 
peace out. Gwen
PS The photos are from 1994, a quarter century ago. The children are Ruth and Forrest. It is how I choose to remember my father. Happier time. A time when I knew my father loved me.