“IF only I can see you,” the old man muttered quietly, “One last time, my sons.”
He wheeled his chair to the window, looking out to the expansive garden of the nursing home. He loved gardening, and it was one of the things that gave him peace of mind and a therapeutic cure for loneliness.
“Now I had to leave that,” he sighed with a shiver of regret.

His sister, Maya, has promised him she would take care of his plants until he could return home.
“Will I be able to?” he wondered, a tremor of fear pulsing through his body.
He looked at the other patients there, walking around slowly or just sitting staring into emptiness. The many roads one had walked to build a life, the stumbles and sacrifices, the times spent with family, the celebrations, the love and laughter, until it was all gone one day.

“I know no one here,” the old man expressed quietly, his voice shaking, “A strange place among strangers.”
They had brought him there, his younger brother, Rudra and his sister Maya, after he had suffered a stroke and the doctor had advised he needed 24-hour care. He had been living alone for a long time, with no wife or children and no other family members who could afford that time to take care of him. Rudra and Maya had always checked on him to ensure he was doing okay, but his older siblings did not have the same care and patience.

The stroke had taken away the full use of his right arm and leg, and his speech was a little slurred. He wasn’t sure what had happened to him that day and had managed to call Maya before collapsing. He had awoken hours later in a hospital room, his concerned siblings by his bedside, but deeply upset with him also because of his negligence in using his medication. They had dedicated some of their time to care for him since their mother had passed away six years ago, despite his stubborn and sometimes rebellious attitude.

He was a rebel he had been since a young man, different from his other siblings and giving his mother and father much heartache. It had seemed to society that he was not normal, and sometimes, when people laughed at him for his erratic behaviour, it made him angry, and he would lash out at those close to him.
No one except his mother knew he was suffering from a mental defect of the storm in his head, thus his anger and aggression, and that’s the reason she had exercised patience with him. There would be calm periods when he behaved normally and then the noise in his head would start again, and he had asked his mother, “Why is this happening to me?”

She couldn’t give him any answer because she didn’t have any, so he grew up into adulthood, dealing with a storm and a calm, as such he made friends and lost friends, changed jobs, and his future did not look quite stable, but he still managed to find some good things in his life despite his mental struggles.
He met a girl he loved and got married. It was the best thing that had happened to him, but on the days when the storm was at its worst, he treated her badly.

She would return to her parents’ home until he went for her, begging for forgiveness, and so it continued until she bore him two sons. A proud father he had been, promising himself he would always be there for them but faltered repeatedly. His wife, unable to take it anymore, had taken the boys and left for good. He had nothing new to offer to bring them back and they drifted apart.
He went back home to live with his mother, the only person who understood his problem and was patient with him. So when she died, it devastated him so much, he broke down and developed hypertension through stress.

His siblings had tried to help him through it, but his rebellious attitude pushed them away.
“I don’t care,” he had reacted angrily, “I don’t need anyone!”
But in his quiet moments much later, he regretted saying those words.

“I have lost so much,” he rued as he sat there in the wheelchair, a lump forming in his throat, “And I caused them all to think of me as the bad guy.”
He hadn’t seen his sons in years, having not played a meaningful role in their lives, not knowing how big they must have grown, their careers, and their success stories.
He sighed deeply, an ache in his heart. Life for him had been filled with so many challenges, many of which he had lost, and he wondered, “Is this where it all ends for me, away from family? Would I be able to see my sons to tell them I am sorry?”

Tears gathered in his eyes, the old, helpless man he had become, and as he was helped to bed that night, he muttered, “One last time…”
The days turned into weeks, and it seemed like a miracle that his health was stable, and strangely, there had been no storm in his mind for a long while.
“Am I cured of it?” he wondered, “When it’s too late?”

Father’s Day was approaching, and though there was some excitement among some of the male patients, the old man felt no enthusiasm except a little hope. On the day before Father’s Day, Maya and Rudra visited him, giving him a haircut and trimming his beard, giving him a presentable outlook.
“Why all this?” he asked.
“So that you can look good for Father’s Day.”

“What does that matter?” he asked, pain in his voice, “If there’s no one to wish me that.”
Neither of them could answer that, although a message had been sent to his sons that he wanted to see them, they had received no response.
He shook his head, a sad look in his eyes, “I don’t think they will ever forgive me.”
“You never know what tomorrow can bring,” Maya said with a positive tone.

On Father’s Day, he sat in his wheelchair by the window, watching families come and go, no one for him, but he held onto his little hope, not wanting to let it go. But past mid-afternoon, his hopes began to fade and he muttered resigningly, “I guess I deserve this.”
He sighed deeply and just then he heard two deep male voices say, “Dad.”
It was the sweetest sound he had ever heard in his life. Turning his chair slowly, he saw two tall, handsome young men standing in the room. Joy filled his heart and he stammered, “M-m-my sons, y-you came.”

They stood there for a while, not saying anything, and then the eldest spoke, “We were told you wanted to see us.”
He nodded his head, “Yeah.”
“You don’t seem to be doing well,” the younger son said.
He nodded his head again, then said slowly, “I want to say I am sorry, for failing to keep the promise I made to you when you were little boys.”

The eldest son came forward and handed him a gift, “That’s fine, we hold no enmity against you, it’s all in the past. Happy Father’s Day.”
The younger son came forward with his gift and wish and said “Hope you get better soon.”
Tears streamed down the old man’s face, “Thank you.”

They stayed for a long while more, not saying much but just being there and when they were ready to leave, he asked, “Would I be seeing you again?”
His sons looked at each other, not answering for a while, then said, “Yeah, when you return home we will visit you more.”
The old man smiled, his heart rejoicing, “What better gift is there, more than that on Father’s Day.”