There was a tornado that passed our town and touched down on the other side of the river. I was 3 hours away when it happened and luckily my roommate called me to tell me to stay where I was. It surprised me that my dad had yet to call me. Every morning and every night he check the weather online before he starts his day, or goes to sleep. For 6 years, he’s been a better weather radar than the local news, occasionally texting or calling to let me know a storm was on its way.
I still haven’t heard from him since July. And although my hurt may sound trivial compared to the pain people are feeling right now with homes and belongings completely gone, I can’t help how it creeps into my mind at work and stops me in mid sentence throughout the day. I’m pretty sure he knew about it and didn’t call me. Even if he didn’t know before, he knew about it after and still didn’t call me.
So one day, while shower thinking, I thought about the situation as if it was the other way around. If an earthquake were to hit home, I’d be calling as soon as I can. As a matter of fact, when a 5.4 earthquake hit right outside of Mexico City, I called home to ask if they knew if everyone was okay. My dad and uncle hadn’t heard about the earthquake yet. If that’s how I reacted about family I barely know, I would definitely be calling if it hit California.
It’s sad to think that I almost drove right into a storm, if it hadn’t been for my roommate’s call. He wouldn’t have had a clue, not out of not being aware, but out of pride. And unfortunately, my resentment grows.