I nearly made the biggest mistake — leaving my father all alone.
Life doesn’t show mercy when you delay what truly matters.
Sometimes, all it takes is a single moment, someone else’s story, or a word to shake us and make us aware. Sometimes, to truly see how misguided our priorities have become, we just need to take a step back from ourselves. Now, as I look back with horror, I realize how close I came to leaving my dear father alone with the silence that slowly devours the soul.
My name is Helen, I’m 41 years old, living in Birmingham, working as an accountant for a private company. I’m married with two children. A typical life like millions of women: work, family, and daily chores. There’s never enough time, my head is always spinning, and things are perpetually put off with “later.” This “later” nearly cost me the most precious thing — simply being there for the one who brought me into this world.
Two days before St. Nicholas Day, I sat in my office. The holiday was approaching, and it was also my husband’s namesake day. My head was filled with lists of dishes, guests, and cleaning tasks. My boss called me in for a talk, hinting at a stressful conversation. To keep myself from going insane while waiting, I mindlessly scrolled through news feeds and websites until I stumbled upon a story that felt like a jolt of electricity.
The story was about a lonely old man who waited for years for his children and grandchildren to visit. He called, wrote, hinted. All to no avail. In desperation, he sent them… his own obituary. Letters announcing his “death.” Only then did they find the time, money, and effort to visit him. Only then did they see how much he had aged, how lonely he had been.
That story burned everything else out of my mind. Thoughts about snacks, table settings, family grievances, and work spreadsheets vanished. Only the image of my father remained.
My dad is a strong, quiet, and very reserved man. After mum passed away six years ago, he held on. Then, supported by my uncle, a couple of old friends, and neighbors, he clung to them like a last thread to normal life. But as the years went by, one friend passed away, another moved to live with his children in Australia, neighbors changed, acquaintances drifted away. Dad remained alone in his old flat in Liverpool. We kept in touch by phone, but increasingly, I heard long, heavy pauses during our conversations.
That day, sitting in my boss’s office, I didn’t hear a single word. I nodded, signed papers, but inside, a voice screamed: “You left your father on his own. You forgot who wiped your brow when you were ill, who carried you on his shoulders when you were tired, who fixed your bike and patted your head when you cried over a bad grade.”
I rushed home and gathered everyone. To my husband and children, I firmly stated: “I’m going to see Grandpa. Today. For a few days. And if you want, come with me.”
Surprisingly, no one objected. My husband just nodded. And so, a day later, we were already in Liverpool.
Dad stood at the door as if he had been waiting. He didn’t seem surprised nor asked questions. He simply hugged me and stayed silent for a while. We spent all the holidays together. We grilled fish, ate mum’s pies made from her recipes, played bingo with the kids, reminisced about the past. I saw him come alive, transforming from a tired old man into the lively dad I remembered from my childhood.
I realized we often forget that our loved ones age. For them, loneliness is not a habit but a sentence. They don’t need our money, parcels, or cards. They need our presence. Our time. Our eyes meeting theirs.
After returning home, I reevaluated my life. I started visiting Dad more often. We speak every evening. I make video calls so he can see the grandkids. We joke, argue, and share our news. Now, I know for sure: had I not read that story, I would have been left with emptiness inside.
So, if you’re reading this and haven’t called your mum or dad in a while — don’t wait for the perfect moment. It won’t come. Call them now. Say “I love you.” Visit spontaneously. Just be there. Don’t let them feel like they’ve become just a shadow to you. Because one day, you might arrive too late.
I could have lost him — not in the literal sense, but emotionally. And then there would have been no way back. But now I know: nothing is more important than making happy those who sacrificed their youth for us.
