Just in the Knick of Time

He had not been expecting a letter, it had been years since he had heard from the man. Why now? Why not years ago? Why had his own father waited 30 years to finally acknowledge his existence?

Marshall didn't even remember his father. He never even met the man in person, any knowledge of his father came from the stories and pictures that his mother shared. He knew from looking at the old pictures that he, himself, looked a lot like his father; dark hair, dark eyes, muscular build, and chiseled features, but other than that, Marshall knew very little about his father.

Now, Marshall stood with this unexpected letter in his hands, not knowing whether to open it and read it, or to just toss it in the trash. He was overcome with emotions and questions.

Carefully, with trembling hands, Marshall opened the letter. Slowly, slowly, he cut the envelope open. Gently, and cautiously, he pulled the paper out of the envelope and unfolded it.

"Dear Marshall,

I know this is probably the last thing you ever expected; getting a letter from your dead-beat father. Son, I am sorry that I was such a coward and ran out on you and your mom. She really was a good woman, and you needed a father. I was just too scared to face my own responsibility. I know that is no excuse for my behavior; you deserved to have a father in your life. For that, I truly apologize.

Marshall, my son, I do not know of any other way to tell you this, but I am dying. I have cancer and it has spread throughout my entire body. I know it may be too late, but I would really love to see you at least one time before I die. I understand completely if you choose not to come.

Son, I have never forgotten about you. Not a day has gone by when you didn't enter my mind. Once I got to a place in my life where I knew I could take care of you, well, you were practically grown. I have watched you grow up in my mind, and since you have become such a wonderful writer, I have been able to follow you through your own work. I have read everything you have ever written, and I have copies of everything too; including that first article you wrote about that local charity event. I have to say, son, you sure have gone far, and I am proud of you.

Marshall, I know that all these years, I never paid a dime of child-support. I also know that you and your mom could have used it. As I said before, by the time I was at a point where I could take care of you, I was too scared to try to make contact. I saved it though. I saved money each and every week and put it into an account for you. I knew that one day, I would finally have the nerve to get in touch and I figure, better late than never. Enclosed is your account information and passbook. This is all yours now, and I am sorry it took me so long to get it to you.

I really hope to get the chance to see you face to face before I die, but if I don't, I only have myself to blame. I just wanted you to know that I do love you, son, and I always have.

Hope to see you soon.

Love always,

Your Dad"

Marshall folded the letter and set it on the table. He felt very confused and at the same time, relieved. He made the decision right then and there that he was going to visit his father. His father didn't mention exactly where he was, so Marshal just went to the location that the return address on the envelope showed, a hospital in a nearby town.

Marshall arrived at the hospital and asked for his father's room number. Beginning to feel excited, he rushed to the room. In his mind, he was picturing what his father would look like, what they might say to each other, and wondering just how much time he would have before his father passed away.

Just as Marshall was turning the corner of the hall towards his father's room, he noticed several nurses scrambling towards the same room. Marshall ran. He now wanted more than anything else, to see his father alive at least once in his life.

He sprinted to his father's room and when he got to the door, he entered quietly. Nurses were gathered around the bed. One of the nurses noticed Marshal standing there, and moved towards him.

"You must be Marshall,: she said.

"Yes, I am," he replied, " How bad is he?" Marshall felt a lump forming in his throat. A lump that he knew meant he was going to cry.

"He's been holding on, but barely. We revived him three times today, and twice yesterday. He insisted that he just could not go in peace until he knew you got a letter that he sent you. He said that he knew that the day you got it, you would be here. Is that true?"

"Yes," said Marshall. "I just got it a little while ago. I had to see him. Is it okay if we have a few minutes alone?"

"Of course," replied the nurse. "If you need anything, just yell and we will be right back."

With that, all of the nurses left the room, and Marshall approached the death bed of the father he never knew. His father looked so frail and weak in that bed; nothing like the old pictures he saw. Marshall gently took his hand, and his father opened his eyes.

They said nothing for a moment; they just looked each other over. Both of them, Marshall noticed, were crying. Finally, Marshall spoke.

"Dad? After all these years? Is it really you?"

"Yes," his father said softly. "Marshall, thank you...."

Marshall cut him off, mid-sentence, "Shh! No thanks needed."

"Marshall," his father said, "I love you, son."

"I love you too, Dad" Marshall replied.

With those simple words, Marshall's father died in peace.