91 Days.
I hadn't spoken to my Dad in 91 days and now I was driving frantically to the U of A Hospital where he was being transferred to from Red Deer. All I knew was he had fallen off his roof and hit his head and the injury was bad enough that he needed to be transferred. Sometimes it takes a crisis to learn how calm you can or cannot be, and I think I did not too bad. It was about 3:30 pm. I had Elliott with me, and had packed him a sandwich, snacks, his water, pencil crayons and a toy car. I picked up my oldest sister Gloria on the way because she was too upset to drive, and off we went.
I wasn't sure if he would be happy to see me. We hadn't spoken in so long, purely out of stubbornness. It all started on Father's Day. I had spoken to him two days before, but then forgotten to call on Father's Day. It was not an intentional slight, and I only learned about it a few weeks later when my middle sister Nicole mentioned it. She actually asked if it was correct, because our Dad is known to forget phone calls if he has had too much to drink. I realized right away that she was right- I had forgotten. I felt terrible and planned on calling him later to apologize profusely and ask forgiveness.
