Poolside Reflections

I never got along with Dad. But when he was dying, I set off for Nebraska to be with him and my family. I stopped for the night at a motel with a pool, hoping a swim would relax me.

The pool area was empty as I slipped into the still water. A man in a bathing suit appeared. He sat and dangled his legs in the water. He had dark hair, deep brown eyes and a five o'clock shadow bracketing a ready smile.

"Where you headed?" he asked. When I told him about my father, he asked how we got along. I tried to change the subject, but then for some reason, I told him everything.

Finally the man said, "Even with all the trouble, remember, your father still loves you."

All at once, warm, vivid memories came flooding back: Dad running alongside my wobbling bicycle, the proud hug he'd given me at my high school graduation, his laugh when I caught him off guard with a tickle. "Yes, I know he does," I heard myself say. And for the first time in years I believed it. The man abruptly left, leaving me alone with my comforting thoughts.

Back in my room, as I crawled into bed, I decided it was time to forgive my father. Then I prayed he'd forgive me too when we met.

The phone jarred me awake at 3 a.m. My sister's voice sent a shiver through me: Dad had just died. I had so wanted to see him and make peace. But as grief was about to engulf me, I remembered that a man by the pool had already brought Dad and me together, one last time.