Her Father by Leigh-Anne Burley
The road to Karen’s home stretched out like a grainy tongue, a path she treaded with a mix of anticipation and dread. The two-story wood farmhouse, needing a fresh coat of white paint, stood resolute, a silent witness to the turbulent emotions of its sole occupant, her dying father. Karen, who had lost her mother at birth, harbored a deep-seated desire for her father, Dwight, to understand the pain of abandonment she had felt when he declared his parental duties fulfilled and asked her to leave after high school. She worked to bridge the gap throughout the years, but her father’s refusal to express remorse remained an obstacle.
Among a cluster of shrubs, Karen discovered the key to the back door, a relic from the day she had fled from her father, in shock and disbelief. As she stepped into the kitchen, the once vibrant yellow walls had faded, mirroring the passage of time. Rows of pills lined the counter, a stark reminder of her father's failing health. Her eyes rested on the round oak table in the kitchen nook, witnessing solitary meals.
Karen pictured her father's alterations as she walked down the musky hallway, wood floors creaking beneath her feet. Dwight was napping in his burgundy leather recliner in the front room. His strong jawline framed a weathered, wrinkled, pale face, and feeling his daughter’s presence, he woke.
“Dad, how are you?”
“I’ve had better days. What about you?”
“I am well, thank you.”
“You look good, Karen. Please have a seat.”
She sat on the matching sofa across from him.
Leaning forward, he said, “Are things well with your family?”
The mother sent him photos of her children, praying he would be interested in his grandchildren, but he didn’t respond. Karen was relieved when her father didn’t mention the last five years when he contacted her without a response. As she gazed through the large window at the mature wheat field, she told him that Sally was starting her second year of college and Luke was a senior in high school. Dwight smiled and asked for pictures. However, the divorced woman didn't bring up the fact that her husband, Mike, left her six years ago with no further contact to live with another woman who was carrying his child.
While sitting upright, Dwight disclosed that his will, in which he left everything to her, was with his lawyer, Sean Wheeler. Even though the house and land are free of debt, he knows she will want to sell them as the farm holds scant beautiful memories for her. He recommended Tommy Reynolds, a realtor who will ensure a reasonable price, as potential investors were looking to purchase agricultural land. They locked eyes, realizing that this signified Dwight releasing his farm.
Memories of his only child riding in the tractor during harvest season resurfaced.
“I know I have been an absent father, and I don’t expect your forgiveness, and I can’t image the pain I caused you.”
“I appreciate that, Dad.”
Karen looked past him, concentrating on the ticking of the grandfather’s, praying this wasn’t a dying man’s self-serving confession, erasing her sharp pain of abandonment and subsequent deep fear and insecurity.
“I’ve arranged my funeral and its expenses. Woody Marelson will take care of everything.”
“I’m so sorry, Dad.”
With steady eye contact, her father said, “I’m ready, Karen. I wish I had more time with you, Sally, and Luke.”
His daughter rose, walked over, and, placing a hand on his shoulder, said, “Thanksgiving is in two weeks, and the kids will be home. I’ll stop by and pick you up.”
“I'd like that,” he said, tearing up.
Dwight’s family, other farm families, and town folks attended his funeral a year later. Karen watched her children start careers, marry, and begin families. His daughter empathized with her father’s sense of profound grief from the death of his wife as he struggled as a single parent working his farm, which allowed Karen to grieve her relationship with him. In time, she forgave Dwight and Mike. Karen died contented at 84, surrounded by her children and grandchildren.
