The Forgotten Photo

He is cleaning out his dad's drawers. With him entering the hospital, probably for the last time, it is time.

He wants to bring him his comfortable pajamas, his most comfy socks, bits of home.

Tears stream down his face as he gathers them. He is only fifty but the cancer is aggressive. The doctors are discussing hospice care.

Moving his dad's clothes around, he finds a photograph buried under his socks. 

Lifting it out and into the light, he is shocked by the face looking back at him, for it is his own in a female form. Her arm is around his dad and she is noticeably pregnant.

He drops on to the edge of his dad's bed as he takes in the picture of his mom. He has never seen her before.

“She died delivering you. I threw away all her pictures, it was just too painful,” His dad told him when he asked about her, “Look in the mirror son and you will see her.”

He hadn't lied about that but he does have a picture of her. He looks back down at it. Does he confront his dad about it? He is dying. Dare he bring up the past they both buried? Or at least the son did, giving up asking about her years ago, but if his dad still had a picture, maybe he has more he can tell him.

Nodding to himself, he heads to the hospital with the bag he packed for him and the secret photograph.

“Danny,” he is weak and his voice barely carries to where his son stands in the doorway, “come in.”

“Dad, I brought you some comfortable clothes,” He carries the bag in, “The nurse can help you change later.”

He isn't averse to helping his dad dress, it is just the cancer makes touch so painful. The nurse navigates it better.

“Thank you.” He takes a seat beside him. This man who used to lift him overhead with one hand can now barely lift his. His thick black hair is gone and his skull is visible under his paper thin skin.

“Dad, I found something when I was packing up your clothes,” He pulled it out of his jacket pocket, “mom?” 

His dad takes it, barely able to grip it. “I forgot I had this one. I am sorry Danny. I would have,” a second to catch his breath, “showed you if I remembered.”

“It is okay, dad.”

“No, a son has a right to know about his mom, no matter what.”

“She died soon after that picture was taken, right?”

“No son. I should have told you years ago but…” A deep sigh as he tries to find the strength to tell the secret he has been keeping, “She was pregnant with your sister here.” 

“My sister?”

“The prettiest baby you ever saw,  lying so still in her arms. You were just a bit over a year old, wouldn't recall. Danielle was born still. It broke us both but,” He traces a shaking hand over the picture , “Joan she wasn't able to recover. A month after we lost the baby, she just up and left.”

“Left? Didn't die?” 

He shakes his head and winces at the pain it causes. “Danny, I am sorry. Thought it easier to have a dead mom than one who abandoned you.”

He takes a heavy seat on the chair by his dad's hospital bed. “Dad,” a shake of his head as he tries again, “dad maybe as a kid but i have been an adult for a few years now.”

“You're right. I didn't want to hurt you.” If he wasn't dying but he was. Would he hold a grudge into his dad's upcoming eternity? No, he couldn't, he wouldn't do that. Taking his hand, he tries to sooth him.

“I forgive you. You did as you thought was right. Do you have any idea where she could be, anything?” 

He sighs, trying to sit up. Danny reaches for the button that lifts up his bed. “Thank you,” he stops catching his breath and thoughts, “ I heard she went out west,” a chuckle that causes him to wince, “she always talked about becoming a star. Maybe it wasn't just Danielle ‘s death that made her leave. I was too boring for her.”

His eyes fill with tears. His son shakes his head. “No dad. You are great. If she was chasing something else, that is her loss.”

“Maybe, but it was yours too,” a delayed second, “and my own. I never,” a breath caught and held as a pain travels through him, “loved another. It is why I never remarried, never gave you a sibling. I am sorry for that as you will be all alone.”

A lump the size of all their regrets fills his throat. He tries to swallow it away. “Dad, please feel no guilt. You are the best dad. I couldn't have hoped for better.”

He tries to smile. It becomes a grimace. Even moving his facial muscles hurt now as the cancer ravishes him. “You are the best son. If you need to look for her, I understand.”

She abandoned them. Grief or no, he can't imagine searching for the mother who clearly doesn't want to be found. He is intrigued by the idea of seeing her, talking to her. Still… 

“I don't know dad. Maybe later.

Later. What that one word covers is everything. Live after his dad ‘s death. A sharp line between before and after. A line right now, he can't imagine crossing even as they barrel towards it.

“You wouldn't be betraying me. You have a right to know her.”

“She should be here, dad. Be here to help you through this and me through. She isn't. Why should I chase after her?”

The old man pats his hand with his cold fingers. His approaching death draws his internal heat inward. “Up to you, my son. I think, had I to do it all again, I would have gone after her. Brought her home.”

That very night, he goes home, entering his eternal rest as his son holds his hand. 

He grieves hard for a year. Then he picks up the forgotten photograph and starts to search for her.