Old Man: A Short Story About Love.

A man awoke with a start, he had dreamed of his death and upon wak­ing took a deep breath, grabbed his arm and pinched it, just in case he was still dreaming.

The man, find­ing him­self awake from the hor­ri­ble dream, decided he would never think about his life’s work in a neg­a­tive way. He picked up his pen and paper that he had used the night before and made a list of things he would do to make him­self bet­ter. His list would be things that he’d wanted to do with his life, but he was an old man and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to, so he started with a list of things he could do in the next year.

His list began:

• I will never think of my life’s work in a neg­a­tive light.
• I will try to help those who need helping.
• I will find more time to prac­tice the one thing I love more than any­thing, my writing.
• I will never think about my past in a neg­a­tive light, it’s what brought me to where I am
• I will find a way to treat those around me better.

The last one was the hard­est for the old man, his kids didn’t talk to him any­more and he told him­self they weren’t worth the effort many times, but as he wrote it on his list a new sense of urgency took over, he wasn’t sure why, but he would send let­ters to his kids.

A let­ter, he told him­self, was more per­sonal and it felt more like him­self. Writ­ing the let­ters, tears came to his eyes and he felt some­thing in his heart that hadn’t been there in a long time. It had been years since his wife passed away and in those years his heart had become solid, he went to the store, bought the things he’d need for the week, returned home and would sit on the couch, writ­ing a new story, one he thought only he would read, for the fear of being judged was too great for him.

One day, a let­ter came from his old­est son, he had two, it said…

Dad,

I’m very glad you’re doing well, I was think­ing of com­ing to see you, but we haven’t talked in very long and I knew it would be best not to con­tact you.

That was before this let­ter showed up. We plan on com­ing up in the next week.

See you then.

Love,

Thomas.

More let­ters came from his kids until all of them would be com­ing at the same time. The old man was over­joyed and couldn’t think of any­thing except embrac­ing his five kids and their kids, some of which he’d never met.

As the man lay down one night he thought of the let­ters and the dream he’d had those many months ago and knew that he had found love again. He knew that writ­ing those let­ters and telling his kids he was sorry for how he’d been to them after their mother had died helped bring their love back to him.

While he was lay­ing there, he grabbed his note­book, fin­ished the book he’d been writ­ing for the twelve years since his wife died and fell fast asleep. The love in his heart for his writ­ing and for his chil­dren had returned and he felt con­tent in what he was doing with his life again.

As he was sleep­ing he had another dream, but it was pleas­ant and he stayed asleep and never woke.

His kids, were called a few days later, and while search­ing his house they found his book. They knew he was always writ­ing some­thing, but never knew since he was too afraid to show anyone.

They flipped through it and dis­cov­ered it wasn’t a novel at all, but sto­ries he’d put together of them when they were children.

Each child cried read­ing pas­sages that per­tained to their child­hood. Putting the book down, the cover page read…

My Won­der­ful Life.

By

Dad

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