One More Time

Dad finally found the words. “Malcolm, I'm going to suffer from memory loss, seizures, dementia and eventually death,” he said bluntly, as direct and to the point as ever. “The doctors have given me two years to live—at most-- which means there are preparations and considerations to be made.”

My nails dug into the wood of his desk, scratching it until a splinter pierced my fingernail. The sharp pain radiating through my hand brought me back to the here and now.

“How can it kill you?” I asked. “It's not cancer. I don't understand.”

“Even benign brain tumors can be deadly,” he explained. “The brain is a complex organ, Malcolm.”

Dad's voice was calmer than it should have been for someone who was facing his own death. But, he talked about it rationally and logically, answering all of our questions with grace and aplomb. That's just who he was. Always stoic, professional and strong.

Even when he was coming face-to-face with his mortality.

“It can't be cured, but it does mean I have more time that I would if it had been malignant, Malcolm,” he said. “And knowing I have a short shelf life has made me realize something very important. I've spent so much time running my business, making money, and trying to leave a legacy behind, that I've neglected those who matter most to me – my family. With the clock ticking, I'm focusing on what’s most important – the people in this very room.”

“You've always been an amazing father,” I said. “You have nothing to atone for. Nothing to prove to any of us.”

Adam side-eyed me, but kept his mouth shut. He hadn't said a single word since Dad mentioned the diagnosis, and I finally glanced over at him. He was standing up straight, his body stiff, but he was otherwise calm. His face was passive. If anything, he looked – bored.

It was as if my father's words had no effect on him. Maybe he'd inherited my father's stoicism, or maybe he actually didn't care about my dad. Our dad. It was hard to tell, and I tried not to make any rash judgements in the heat of an emotional moment. But, seeing him there, silent and relaxed, caused my blood to boil from the inside out. I wanted to lash out, grab him, and get his face. I wanted to scream at him, asking him what in the hell was wrong with him.

I did none of that though. I simply stood there, trying to let the profound implications of this news sink in.

“Family has always been important to me, just as it was to my own father before me,” Dad continued. “I've been neglecting my family legacy. Which is why I make one request, and only one request, from you, my sons.”

“Anything, Dad,” I said. Adam, of course, said nothing.

“I have approximately two years left on this earth,” he said. “I need to know I'm leaving a legacy behind, a strong Crane lineage that will continue long after I'm dead.”

Ad

am adjusted his footing, shifting on the balls of his feet. In his view, things were suddenly getting interesting.

“Which brings me to the topic of your inheritance, sons,” he said. “I would rather not wait until after my death to share my wealth with the two of you, but I need to be sure of one thing – that the Crane legacy lives on and is strong, and will be, well beyond the two of you, my only children.”

“What's that supposed to mean, Dad?”

Adam asked the question that was eating at me, but I'd learned long ago to never rush my father along when he was talking. It was always best to let him spell things out in his own time. He'd eventually come to the point. Adam, though, hadn't had the same experience.

“It means,” my dad sat up tall in his seat, and his voice grew firmer, “that I expect both of my sons to give me grandchildren while I'm still capable of appreciating them. Before I lose my senses and don't have the ability to remember any of you, let alone my grandkids. Doctors say that can be anywhere from nine months to a year from now, maybe longer. But, he also said to not count on it, that it was a very fluid timeline.”

Adam scoffed, and I remained perfectly still, studying my father's face very carefully.

My half-brother said, “Nine months?” he asked, his voice colored with disdain. “You do realize how long it takes to have a child, right?”

My dad's gaze drifted from me over to Adam, and his eyes narrowed as he looked at him. My mom stiffened and stared down at Adam as if she'd forgotten he was there. Call it selective memory. Both of my parents seem disturbed by his bluntness, and while I couldn't blame them, I was glad someone came out and asked the hard questions. I was even more glad that it wasn't me.

Dad's voice rumbled through the office, “Well, you better start trying then, shouldn't you?”

Terrance cleared his throat and opened a file on the desk in front of him. He pulled out a couple sheets of paper and slipped both Adam and myself a copy of Dad's last will and testament. Just seeing the words at the top of the page sent a jagged bolt of pain through my heart that I wasn't ready to deal with. “I'd encourage you two to look everything over,” Terrance said. “And if you have any questions, you can call me anytime. I'll help you through all the legalese and get you pointed in the right direction.”

Dad stood with mom's help. “That should be all, thank you Terrance,” he said. “Let me walk you out.”

The two men walked around the desk, and dad patted me on the back as he passed on the way to the door. Before he passed me completely though, he leaned close and whispered in my ear.

“It's about time you put a ring on that young lady's finger and a baby in her belly anyway,” he said and gave me a wink.

Danielle. He meant Danielle. Fuck me. He didn't know.

Dad and Terrance left the office, leaving the three of us alone. I sighed, running a hand through my hair, still not able to absorb everything that had just been said. Still not able to absorb the inevitability of my dad's impending death.