“Beep. Beep. Beep.” My alarm clock goes off as usual at precisely 5:32 am each morning, giving me exactly three minutes to wake up and roll out of bed. The work of a doctor is never done; you never know when you will be woken up by an emergency call or when you’ll be able to get a full night of sleep. I face the usual routine each morning, wake up, get dressed, quickly down a bowl of Cheerios and a banana for breakfast, give my husband a quick kiss goodbye, and then catch the 6:15 am RIPTA bus to the Rhode Island Hospital.

Briskly walking in the 41° weather, my fingers and toes start to feel numb. It’s a usual late November morning in Rhode Island. When I reach the usually empty bus station, I notice an old man sitting on the cold bench only a few inches from the end. He’s wearing a Veteran’s hat and jacket and in his bare hands he holds a journal. He notices me approach and smiles in my direction as I sit on the other side of the bench. I can’t help but stare at him and think how that’s what my father must have looked like when he was alive. I can only imagine though, as my images of my father come from pictures. He passed in the war and I never met him even once. I use to dream of running into his arms and hugging him as tight as I could. Coming back to reality, I realize the old man hasn’t moved a centimeter; he even looks as if he hasn’t flipped a page. The bus screeches to a stop and I board still staring at the old man who hadn’t noticed the bus approaching. As the bus begins to pull away I watch the man, he seems almost frozen, like a statue.

I arrive at work and pursue my normal routine, but throughout the day that man always ended back up in my mind. “Why did he not board the bus?” “Why didn’t the driver wait for him, or ask where he was going” “Why was it like no one else saw him?” “Why do I keep thinking about him?” These questions filled my mind until my head hit the pillow and I feel asleep that night. When I woke up all the questions were gone and it was like the man had never existed. I made my way outside once again to the freezing early morning air, where there was newly fallen snow on the ground. Nearing the bus stop, I noticed a figure sitting on the bench, as I found the old man the day before. As I get closer I see it’s the same man, in the same spot, in the same clothes, and reading the same book. He notices me and smiles the way he did before. Feeling obligated to start a conversation I begin to speak:
“I noticed your Veterans hat, what war did you serve in?”
He responded in a raspy voice “ I fought in the Vietnam War”
“Oh, my father fought in that war, William Douglas?”
“Name sounds familiar”
“I’m Julie Douglas, and your name?”
“Tom Flynn, nice to meet you.”
“And you as well Tom”
The conversation was short but friendly and it passed the time until my bus arrived. The same as yesterday, he did not board and the bus drove away without a question, as if no one noticed. The day passed and no matter how hard I tried Tom Flynn wouldn’t leave my mind. He seemed familiar to me, almost as if he was taken from a photograph and placed at that bus stop. My thoughts were jumbled, as I wondered and questioned what I saw and why others didn’t seem to see the same.

It was no surprise to me the third morning when I arrived and saw the same man, in the same spot, same clothes, and of course the same book. He noticed and smiled like it was my exact memory playing again.

“Hello Julie.”

“Hi Tom.”

Seeing Tom, in his Veterans hat, brought old childhood memories back. My mother sitting, crying in my father’s leather chair, I was wondering why and I was worrying I had done something wrong. But when she looked to me with tears running down her face, and said that daddy won’t be home. I didn’t understand. I was too young. My darkest fear is having to look down to my kids and tell them that someday. That something will happen to my husband. That my own children may never meet their father, and that he will never be able to meet his kids. That I will have to raise them alone, watch their first steps and first words and have no one to look to and laugh with. The fear of knowing that my children will not receive the love or pride that comes from a father.

After work, I called my husband and let him know that I wouldn’t be home for dinner and that I was going to my moms. I had to see her and tell her about this man that was caught in my thoughts. I end work and take the bus to Barrington, to an old, rickety red house. You first notice the chipping red paint and then rotted pumpkins on the front porch, then dead flowers in the boxes and the faded white shutters. You would think it was abandoned, but to me it’s home. I walk into the smell of shepherds pie and homemade applesauce. Then I see my mom, short, blonde hair, wearing an old ripped apron, but she has a huge heart.

“Hey sweetie! You seemed a little frazzled on the phone, what has been bothering you?”

“I met a veteran, he would be around dad’s age I think.”

“Oh?”

“Tom Flynn?”

With those two words my mother’s expression had dropped. She had a questioning yet scared look that replaced her usual happy smiling face. I began to worry. Did she know him? She signaled to the chair, so I took a seat and waited for her to begin.

“Where did that come from Julie? I haven’t heard that name in twenty-five years.”

“Well I see him at the bus station every morning, and he said he might have known dad. I was just wondering whether you had ever heard of him?”

“You saw him at the bus station…?”

“ Yes, every morning this week at 6:00am.”

“ You couldn’t have.”

“Why not?”

“ He died with your father twenty-five years ago in the war. They were very close.”

Well, that’s one thing I never expected to hear. Was I going insane? Was Tom a vision? My heart pounded like drum beat. What would I encounter the next morning?

At 6:00am on the dot I arrived at the bus station. There, sitting on the bench in the same spot, in the same clothes, and reading he same book is Tom Flynn. This time I walk right up to him

“Hi Tom”

He looks at me, almost through me.

“Your father wants you to know that he loves you”

“What?”

“Your father is so proud of you.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

But suddenly, it was if I was asking that question to the air, for all I could see was my breath. As I look down upon the bench where Tom had sat for four days, it was empty and he had left. The bus arrived and I boarded, staring at the deserted bus station as the bus pulled away and it was out of sight.

Even though Tom has left, his message will stay with me for the rest of my life. That even though a loved has left, they will always continue to love and support you just as much as they did before. I went home and hugged my husband, feeling better about the life that is ahead of us.