The Last Call From My Father

The Last Call From My Father

A Story of Love, Regret, and the Words Left Unspoken

The night was heavy with silence when my phone lit up with a familiar name Father. It was late, almost past midnight, and I hesitated before answering. We hadn’t spoken properly in weeks. Work deadlines, city life, and my own stubbornness had built an invisible wall between us. But something in me, perhaps instinct, pushed me to swipe the green button.

Hello, Baba?” I said, my voice half tired, half irritated.

There was a pause on the other side, and then came the frail but steady voice I had known all my life.

“Beta, how are you?”

It was such a simple question, but I froze. For years, my father had been the man who never asked for much. His way of showing love was quiet, unspoken a plate of food left on the table, a sweater placed on my bed in winter, a small envelope slipped into my bag before I returned to the city. And now, in the stillness of the night, that same man was asking me how I was.

I’m fine, Baba,” I replied quickly, trying to sound normal. “Just busy.”

He gave a soft laugh, though it sounded tired. “Always busy. But remember, no one is ever too busy for family.”

I wish I had listened more carefully to the weight of those words.

The Silence Between Us

My father was never the type to demand attention. Unlike other parents, he rarely lectured. He would simply observe, quietly offering his wisdom in one-line sentences that seemed ordinary at the time but carried meaning only years later.

Growing up, I often mistook his silence for indifference. He wasn’t expressive like my mother; he didn’t call me every day or shower me with affection. Instead, he believed that love was best shown through actions. When I stayed up late studying, he would walk past my room, leave a glass of milk on the table, and leave without saying a word. When I failed an exam, he didn’t scold me he just said, “Try again, beta. Failure is only a lesson.”

But somewhere along the way, I became distant. Calls became shorter, visits less frequent. Work, friends, ambition all of it took priority. And my father, as always, never complained.

That last call was different, though. His voice carried something I had never noticed before a quiet urgency.

The Call That Changed Everything

Do you have time to come home this weekend?” he asked.

I frowned, already calculating meetings and projects in my head. “I’ll try, Baba. You know how things are at work.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, and then said, “Beta, life doesn’t wait. Promise me you’ll visit soon.”

I promised, half-heartedly, thinking it was just another casual request. I had no idea it would be the last promise I would ever break.

The next morning, I received another call. But this time, it wasn’t from him. It was my mother’s trembling voice telling me he had suffered a heart attack in his sleep. By the time I reached home, he was already gone.

The world around me blurred the funeral rituals, the endless visitors, the murmurs of relatives. But my mind was stuck on that one call, those last words, and my own careless response.

The Regret That Lingers

I replay that night over and over again. What if I had asked him how he was feeling? What if I had booked a ticket immediately and gone to see him? What if I had told him how much I loved him, how much his quiet strength had shaped me?

But I didn’t. And that’s the cruelty of life you realize the value of someone only when their voice becomes a memory.

Now, every time I see my phone screen light up, I remember the last time it did with his name. I remember the warmth in his voice, the hidden love behind his words, and the silence that followed after I hung up.

Lessons From That Last Call

My father’s final call taught me more than years of life ever could. It taught me that love doesn’t always come wrapped in grand gestures. Sometimes it hides in the smallest acts an extra blanket on a cold night, a reminder to eat on time, a quiet phone call at midnight.

It also taught me that time is ruthless. We always think we have tomorrow to say the things we leave unsaid. But sometimes, tomorrow never comes.

If I could go back, I would have stayed longer on that call. I would have asked him about his day, his health, his dreams that he never shared. I would have told him how proud I was to be his child. I would have said, “I love you, Baba.”

But all I can do now is carry that love in my heart, unspoken but eternal.

A Message to Everyone Reading

If you’re reading this, take it as a sign. Call your parents today. Don’t wait for the “right time.” Don’t assume they’ll always be there, waiting. Because one day, the phone might ring for the last time, and you won’t know it until it’s too late.

Life moves fast. Careers, ambitions, and responsibilities will always be there. But the people who truly matter the ones who raised you, loved you silently, and sacrificed everything for you they won’t wait forever.

The last call from my father was not just a goodbye; it was a reminder to live differently, to love loudly, and to never leave important words unsaid.

So, make that call today. Say the words. Don’t let silence become your regret.