Coffee Saved My Dad's Life

The relationship between fathers and sons is a complicated one. And mine with my Dad was no different.

I have never been a particularly religious person. My parents never pushed religion on me. My Grandma took my sister and me to church when we were little, but nothing ever came of that. We got older and lost interest. But my Grandma always maintained one phrase that stuck with me. That everything in life happens for a reason. Nowadays, you see that line used everywhere. Most often in social media And it is often used out of context. But if you genuinely dissect the phrase down to its core, it can be hauntingly eerie. Are small minor events throughout your life ultimately leading to one event? Is it possible? I never thought so. Not until that very concept ended up saving my father's life.

Growing up, I idolized my Dad. I wanted to be just like him and do everything like him. I think most kids are like this when they are young. There was nothing he couldn't do. He made it to all my sporting events and boy scout camps, built forts for my sister and me, took us camping and fishing. Dad was the greatest.

As great as all that was, I enjoyed the smaller things more. Dad was an early riser and always woke me up early so the two of us could hang out before the day's craziness began. I would help him make the coffee. He let me put the scoops in, and I would watch it drip out as he prepared our bagels. When Dad poured his coffee, he would put a few drops into my milk to colour it a bit and give it to me in a coffee mug to pretend. Then we would sit on the couch or, if it was summer out on the deck, like two best friends drinking coffee.

When I was about 10, I was allowed to try real coffee for the first time. It was then that I found a genuine appreciation for coffee. Albeit it with a lot of cream and sugar at that age, I lost the sugar and added less cream and today, I drink it strictly black. And I love it. At 10, however, I was only allowed to drink it on special occasions.

One of these special occasions was on road trips to see my grandparents. Four or five times a year, we drove 5 hours away to see my Dad's parents. My Dad and I developed a tradition of always stopping at our favourite gas station at the halfway point on the route. It was one of those classier gas stations that served real food and specialty coffees. In particular, we both loved one coffee, Kona coffee, a Hawaiian blend they sold. We both, for whatever reason, just loved it. And it was the coffee we would come to choose continually, year after year, on these trips. Nothing made me feel more adult than walking out of the gas station with my Dad, coffees in hand, and climbing into the front seat next to him. My sister would usually fall asleep in the back with Mom, and while sipping our coffees, Dad and I would talk nonstop, and the rest of the trip just fell away to great conversation, lots of laughs, and Kona coffee.

As I got older and into my teens, my Dad and I hit a rocky patch, as many fathers and sons do. We argued, oh boy, did we ever argue. We were both stubborn, and the arguments always lasted longer than they should have. However, he was still a champion and never wavered in his support for me. And I always knew he was one phone call away if I ever needed a ride home in the middle of the night. He made sure I knew that, no matter how bad a fight we were having at the time. The Kona coffee tradition remained during the road trips to see the grandparents through these troubling years. It was one of the few things we could find common ground. And it was as if those coffees were full of magic because the moment we were back in the car, we were best friends again. The arguments melted away, and the long talks and returned. We sipped our coffees with smiles on our faces as if we had never said an unkind word to each other.

Two things happen between fathers and sons as you grow out of your teen years. You either become best friends again or go down a path where the fighting becomes more personal and irreparable damage occurs. Unfortunately, that was the path my Dad and I took. I didn't finish school and had a lot of trouble figuring out what I wanted to do with my life. I ended up doing odd jobs that I never really enjoyed and would not stay at for long. I know this disappointed my Dad, and it slowly created a rift between us. I wish I could say that the coffee tradition continued and that the troubles melted away when we had our Konas in hand. But they didn't. I stopped going on the road trips to see the grandparents, and those wonderful coffee moments faded away.

As I drifted into my thirties, I finally settled on a job I didn't like but was good at, and it paid well. It gave my life stability, and this made my Dad happy. Our relationship improved, but it was not the same. Awkward moments of silence were a regular occurrence in our conversations. At this point, he had left town to look after his father, and our relationship consisted mainly of phone calls. And when he did visit, he seemed to time the visits when I would always be working. I wanted to believe it wasn't intentional, but I would be lying if I said I didn't feel some resentment towards him over this. I called him out over it one night, he denied it. We went back and forth and ended up airing all our grievances with one another. We said things I know we both regret. The phone calls became less frequent after that.

A year later, his father passed away. I thought, or maybe deep down, I hoped this would bring us closer again. It didn't. If anything, it only seemed to widen the gap that had grown between us. And when we did talk, it felt more like a formality. Talking because we thought we should not because we wanted to. And by the time I was in my mid-thirties, we rarely even did that.

As big of a coffee lover as I did not make it at home very often. I always bought my coffee on the way to work. Or when out with friends. I had a machine but rarely used it. So what made me decide to buy coffee beans one day? I will never know. But I was doing my usual grocery shopping and decided I wanted to pick up some coffee. I head down the coffee aisle to check out the options, and my eyes land on a bag of Kona coffee beans. Instantly my mind was back to those car rides with my Dad—simpler times when a cup of coffee was able to mend whatever our differences were at the time. I bought the coffee immediately.

When I got home, the only thing on my mind was that I wanted to talk to Dad. For the first time in a long time, I was excited to talk to him. I decided to give him a call. When he answered, I told him I had just bought some Kona coffee beans and was about the brew myself a pot. Hearing this seemed to make him happy. I like to think his mind was also back in the car on those beautiful road trips. He didn't sound like himself though, his voice was off, and it sounded like he had to make a great effort to talk to me. I passed it off that he was just tired. We had a pleasant conversation, the first good conversation we had had in a long time. Dad and I talked for two hours, laughing and reminiscing about old times. Both are back in the car again. Best friends. When we hung up, I was still smiling. Kona coffee had brought my Dad and me together again, however briefly and for the first time in many years, we ended a conversation happy.

Later that evening, I decided to brew myself another pot of Kona coffee. I put the coffee on, and I decided to call my Dad again. I wanted to tell him I was making another pot of Kona. It was more than that, though; I actually wanted to talk to my Dad. Something I hadn't felt in a long time. As the coffee was brewing, I dialled his number. He didn't answer. The coffee finished brewing, and I poured myself a cup, dialling dad again as I sat down. Again he didn't answer. Maybe he's in the shower or out shopping. One thing about my Dad was he always called me back regardless of where we were in our relationship. When an hour passed and I had not heard from him, I developed a feeling I couldn't quite understand—a knowing feeling but of what I didn't know.

I picked up the phone and called him again and still no answer. Something was not right, and by now, I knew he was not okay. I dialled him, again and again, it just rang. I was about to hang up and call a friend of his to check on him when he finally answered. He had that same voice from earlier. Like it was a struggle to talk, but worse now. He was barely able to form sentences and was not making sense. I asked him if he was okay, and he assured me he was. I told him I did not think so. Something deep down in me knew Dad was not okay and told him I would send him an ambulance. He struggled to say to me that was not necessary. I hung up, and I called 911.

When the paramedics arrived, Dad was near death. It turned out Dad's health had gotten incredibly bad. Pain in his back and hips was plaguing him daily, but he suffered in silence. He had turned to painkillers and continued to increase the amount the pain increased. The day I couldn't reach him, he had gone weeks with barely any food or water; his body had shut down. Later, the doctor who looked after him told me that he would have died if I hadn't sent the ambulance that night. I saved his life.

Since that day, my Dad has moved back home. I wish I could say we became best friends again, but those awkward moments of silence are still there. It doesn't bother me anymore, though. He sometimes brings up the moment I saved his life. And I can see in his eyes how proud he is of me when he talks about it. That is enough for me.

When I think back on the events, I am still bewildered about how they could come together. All the small details throughout life led me to the moment. Was it God? Chance? Or extreme coincidence? Was a higher power at work? I will never know. I had never really believed in anything until that day. And I still don't quite know what I believe. All I know is that something happened. There's no denying that if we hadn't started drinking coffee together and fallen in love with the taste of Kona coffee on those road trips, if those moments hadn't been the common ground we needed at the time, there would've been no reason for me to even look at Kona coffee in the grocery store that day. Which would mean I would not have gone home to call my Dad and tell him about it. I would not have heard it in his voice that something was wrong. I would not have gotten that gut feeling when he wouldn't answer his phone. And my Dad would have died that night. Somehow someway, these events happened the way they did to lead to this moment. I firmly and 100% believe that. Those events happened for a reason. They happened so that I could save my father's life.