My Father's Secret

“Roberta,” Dad whispered, “I have something to tell you.”

We were alone in his hospital room. Mom had lost her battle with cancer a few days before. The same day of her death, Dad suffered a stroke and fell, breaking his shoulder. He spent the funeral in the hospital. I’d rushed back to his side as soon as the service was over.

Being with Dad made me feel good. I was the second kid. All my life I’d felt like an afterthought. I guess a lot of second kids feel that way. So this time with Dad felt like the answer to a lifelong prayer.

When Mom had gotten sick, I put my years of nursing skills to work on her without thinking about it. Every day after work I drove straight over to Mom and Dad’s. We’d watch TV or I’d do errands for them. Many nights we’d just talk. That was my favorite.

Tough as Mom’s illness was and as overwhelmed as I felt, I loved being the center of their attention. Especially Dad’s. For the first time I felt like I was the apple of his eye.

Now, alone with him in that hospital room, I wondered what more he had to tell me. “What is it?” I asked, leaning in.

Dad took my hand. “A long time ago, before I met your mom, I was married to another woman. When I married your mom I promised her I’d never mention the marriage. I kept my promise.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “You don’t have to feel bad.” The marriage must have been 50 years in the past. There was no reason why Dad should feel guilty now. 

Dad’s face still looked grave. “There’s more. I had a son with that woman. His name is James too—Jim. I need you to call him and ask him to come.”

Again, I kept calm. I didn’t want to. I wanted to cry out. I wanted to ask why, just when I felt close to Dad, there’d be another child. 

“I’ll contact him. Tell me how to get in touch.”