Rainy Day

My dad has always been cheap. No softer way to say it. When we were kids, it made sense, he had a growing family and a shoestring budget. But even as life got a little easier, his habits never did. He was always saving for a rainy day.

Every summer we drove to Canada for a fishing trip, and without fail he’d add an extra hour to the drive just to cut through a reservation for gas that was ten cents cheaper. My sibling and I would groan in the backseat while he proudly rerouted an entire vacation to save a buck. To us, it was annoying. To him, it was just smart.

He’s still the same. Still driving across town for cheaper gas. Still chasing ten cents off ground round like it’s a competitive sport. Still saving for a rainy day.

I was recently diagnosed with cancer and it has a way of rearranging everything overnight. One minute you’re living your normal life, and the next you’re learning a whole new vocabulary of scans and surgeries and treatment plans. The physical part is one thing, but the financial side sneaks up just as fast. Bills stack up quietly at first, then all at once. Co-pays. Medications. Time off work that you didn’t plan for and can’t really afford.

It felt like every time I turned around, there was something else. Another appointment. Another charge. Another moment of doing the mental math and realizing it just didn’t quite add up.

So I did something that never gets easier, no matter how old you are. I called my dad.

More than once.

And every single time, he showed up without hesitation. No lectures. No “I told you so.” Just help.

I don’t roll my eyes anymore.

Turns out, I was the rainy day he’d been saving for all along.