JULY OF 1971, a half a world away from these piney woods, I got the worst phone call of my life. I was in the military, stationed in northern Taiwan. Communications back to the United States — “the world” as we all called it — were very limited. Phone calls to or from home were infrequent.

When I arrived for duty that day, I learned that the Red Cross had been trying to get in touch with me. For a soldier a world away, the word that the Red Cross is trying to reach you is never good news. They don’t do that for anything but the most serious of family emergencies, typically death or grievous illness. I knew it was bad news. I just didn’t know who the bad news would be about — a parent, a sibling?

THE CALL came through, and they were calling about my father, my 44-year-old father. He was alive, but he had cancer, they said. I was already well into my second tour over there, but my Dad wanted me home as soon as possible. “I’ll be home in five months,” I told them. After a pause, the voice on the other end said “he won’t be alive in five months.”

Of all the things we imagined as my father drove me to leave for Taiwan 19 months earlier, of all the fears we had, the one that never occurred to us was that his life might be at risk.

When I heard those words — “he won’t be alive in five months” — it was as if my mind went blank, unable to compute this piece of information. I wondered how that could be possible. He had just written me, telling me his recent check up was great. I had clippings from the Lufkin Daily News showing a story about how my Dad was a cancer survivor, helping raise money for cancer treatment! I had the written proof that he was fine, but this voice on the other end told me that was all gone, all history that no longer mattered. This was my new world, the world of realizing my daddy was about to die.

AT FIRST, I could not wrap my head around it. Back in East Texas, Dr. Basil Atkinson was helping my family get Senator John Tower to get me back home immediately. I had worked for Dr. Atkinson’s candy company in Lufkin my senior year of high school, and my dad knew him from civic activities.

Suddenly, three days later, I was on a big plane heading back to the world. Twenty-four hours later, I would hug my Dad on the front lawn, seeing him for the first time since we parted as I left 19 months earlier. Except this time we were both crying. When I left, only he was crying. This time, we knew our days together were numbered.

Everyone who has ever gotten one of those life changing phone calls knows this experience. My life is measured by the knowledge that my father’s death was imminent. He was not the first or the last important person in my life to die, but his death remains the one that has most influenced me. Thirty-eight years later, the thought of that day is like a kick in the gut.

I AM SO thankful my phone call gave me a chance to come home, to see my Dad, to talk with him, to spend time with him, and to prepare myself for his passing. I am so thankful to Dr. Atkinson and everyone who helped get me home so quickly. I know that others have had that worst phone call ever, and not been blessed as I was to enjoy their loved one a little longer. I count my blessings even for that worst phone call ever.

© 2009, Pappy Moore, All Rights Reserved.

Pappy Moore is a humorist, a native son of East Texas who still makes the piney woods his home.

oaktreefm58@hotmail.com

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