As I’ve mentioned before, my father died a year and a half ago. My sister recently posted on her Facebook that she was cleaning out the contacts in her phone and came across his number. She still had his number in her phone. I’m not shocked by that. I still have the number in my phone. As a matter of fact, I kept text messages from him for 10 months. I only got rid of them because my phone decided it needed a wash with the dishes and I had to get a new phone.
Dad wasn’t able to get up to use the restroom very often. Not because he didn’t want to but because his body wouldn’t let him. He had a portable stool for his bowel needs but for urine output he had a container. When he would need to use the restroom we would leave the room and he would text me when we could come back in. Each time is was “safe” to come back he would text me “Ok”. I had five of those texts. I kept them. I know they were just 2 letters but I couldn’t bear to delete them. It was like deleting them from my phone would be deleting him. I did lose those messages when I switched phones and it wasn’t as painful as I had imagined.
I do still have his phone number in my phone. THAT has been something I can’t delete. I have thought a time or two that I should delete it or at least put some sort of note with the name, only because, what if I were to be in an accident and the police scroll through my phone and call “Dad” only to find out, it’s not my dad.
I had inspiration Friday morning when I saw my sister’s post. What if that were a story? What if someone got that call? What if after that call, after telling the police officer on the other line that he wasn’t who they thought he was, that he felt compelled to go to that hospital and check on that person? What if that was the beginning of a journey of healing for one or both of them? What if that phone call changed both of their lives forever? What if that phone call was the beginning of a relationship that those two people would tell their children about some day?
I have started the story and I thought I would share a little bit.
“Yes, sir. My name is Officer Connor Bryant. Your daughter, Melody Franklin has been in an automobile accident. She has been taken to Mercy Hospital.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ve got the wrong number. I don’t have a daughter.”
“I’m sorry, sir. This number was listed in her cell phone under Dad. Do you know Melody Franklin?”
“No, sir. I’m sorry I can’t be of help.”
“Thank you, sir. Sorry to have bothered you.”
He was grateful that that call had been a wrong number. Not that he was grateful for, Melody was it, being injured but that it wasn’t his loved one. What was he thinking? This lady was someone’s daughter and he was being selfish. Lord, forgive me. You know this person and her family. I pray that her injuries aren’t serious and you cast a great healing on her body. I pray for her family, give them peace. Amen.
He unpaused the movie he had been watching before the unknown number popped up on his cell phone screen. A feeling came over him. He needed to go to the hospital and check on this wounded stranger. Lord, what possible reason do I have for going to see this stranger?
He pushed the feeling aside and put his focus back on the movie.
The urge to go to Mercy became increasingly stronger and he couldn’t focus on the movie any longer. Lord, I don’t want to go to that hospital. I am a complete stranger, I will be imposing on some family’s pain. What am I supposed to say, “I don’t know you or your daughter but the police called me thinking I was her father. How is she?” How ridiculous is that?