By Heather Graves
Editor

When those reunion videos pop up on my social media accounts – a soldier reuniting with his/her family after a deployment, long-lost friends meeting up for the first time in decades or a reconciliation between family members – I can’t help but watch.

The emotions of everyone involved get me every time.

Never in a million years did I expect it would happen to me.

Last Friday started like any other over the past several months.

Got myself and my kids ready for the day and headed out to school, daycare and work.

Dropped one off at school, and headed to my sister’s (aka daycare) to drop off my youngest, before heading into the office.

Per usual, I sent a quick message to my sister as I waited at the red light around the corner letting her know I was close.

I pulled into the driveway, parked and proceeded to unbuckle and get out of the car to get my little guy out.

That’s when I looked up.

My estranged father, who lives in Pennsylvania, and who I hadn’t seen in at least a decade, was standing in my sister’s driveway.

What happened next, I can’t say I was entirely in control of.

My body just ran – literally shaking – and I jumped into my father’s arms, hugging him so tightly.

Right then, I knew I was having one of those reunion-video moments that I so often watched.

It didn’t mean everything that happened in the past was forgotten, the years of separation were ignored or the numerous unanswered questions were answered.

Nor did it diminish the immense gratitude I have for my single mother for all she’s done for and given me – but in that moment it was a beginning – a hopeful new start.

In the last several months, as I conducted interviews for and wrote the Disregarded Homeless series pieces, it has further emphasized the fact that life is short.

I could have held a grudge. I could have given him a piece of my mind. I could have decided not to spend time with him. I could have brought up all the past hurts.

But in moments I was able to share with my father, I instead decided to be thankful for whatever it was.

Never, that I remember, has my father made this big of an effort – nor gone out of his way to make amends.

For me, that means something.

And while not everyone agreed with my decision, it was a decision I was thankful I had the opportunity to make. 

I’m a handful of decades old. He’s a few decades older than that. I don’t know how many more we’ll have. For me, that’s enough to at least try.

I learned after he left, when speaking to my husband, my dad admitted the surprise trip here was an effort to start to patch the wounds of the past he acknowledged he was responsible for and reconnect.

And while those wounds can’t be healed in one weekend visit, it’s a start.

We have committed to weekly video chats, and who knows, maybe a trip to Pennsylvania is in my future.

I later found out on his trip home, my father and step-mom were in a serious car accident on the turnpike in Ohio.

Thankfully, besides some bruised ribs and a busted lip, they are safe.

Really put the entire weekend further into perspective.