It’s Never Too Late to Forgive
After a fight six years ago, my dad and I stopped speaking. What started as a disagreement became
a wall built from grief and silence. Then I got a call—he was in a care facility, sick with dementia and pneumonia.
I visited through the glass. We hadn’t spoken in years, but when I raised my hand, he did too.
I apologized, not knowing if he understood. Days later, I got another call—he was asking for me.
When I finally saw him, frail but clear-eyed, we talked—about family, life, and love. He said he was proud of me. I told him I never stopped loving him.
Two weeks later, he passed. I cried not just for the loss, but for the time we almost lost. But we found each other again, just in time.
Forgiveness isn’t forgetting—it’s reaching out. Don’t wait. Make the call.
