Some calls can’t wait

I can’t remember who I was meeting with when my mom called the first time.

I don’t remember what office I was in or what the meeting was about.

I only remember that I didn’t answer.

My dad had stage 4 esophageal cancer. It had moved quickly. I was in North Carolina and my parents were in Pennsylvania.

And I was doing what a lot of high performers do when life is falling apart in the background. I was trying to manage what I could from far away while still being fully functional at work.

Which, looking back, is absurd.

I cared about my dad. Of course I did.

But work had become the thing that got the first yes by default.

And that changed for me on August 28, 2018.

While I was in that very forgettable meeting, my mom called. I ignored it because I was working.

She called again. I ignored it again.

Then my half-sister called, and my body knew before my brain had words for it.

Something was wrong.

I excused myself, checked the voicemail, and the transcript said my dad had collapsed and wasn’t breathing.

I remember running through campus. I remember barging into my boss’s office and saying I had to go home immediately.

And by the time I got to the parking lot, my mom called again to tell me he had died.

I remember the scream that came out of me.

And then I remember the thought right after it.

I didn’t answer.

That thought is brutal because I can’t change it. I can’t go back and pick up the phone.

And also, the part I keep coming back to all these years later is not just the missed call. It’s the rule I had been living by without noticing it.

If work asks, I answer. If life asks, it waits.

No one handed me that rule in writing. There was no official policy that said, “Please make yourself available to this institution before your actual people.”

But somewhere along the way, I absorbed it.

I absorbed it every time staying late felt responsible. Every time being available made me feel valuable. Every time interrupting work for a personal need felt inconvenient or unprofessional.

And listen, I know this is where people want to say, “Well, you couldn’t have known.”

True. I couldn’t have known.

But that’s the part that messes with me now.

It looked reasonable while I was doing it.

It felt reasonable to stay in the meeting. It felt professional. It felt like the kind of thing a responsible employee does.

And now I can’t remember a single thing about that meeting. Not one damn thing.

But I will always remember not answering the phone.

Your version may not be a phone call like that.

I genuinely hope it isn’t.

But maybe there’s a doctor’s appointment you keep moving because your calendar is a disaster. Or a friend you keep meaning to call back, except by the end of the day you’re too fried to be a real person. Maybe your people have learned to wait because work usually gets the first yes.

And the frustrating part is that work rarely asks plainly.

It just takes the next little piece.

The next meeting. The next message. The next “quick thing.”

When work and your life both ask for access to you, what rule are you actually following?

I’m not saying you can always drop everything. We all need to make money. We all have responsibilities. Sometimes there are real constraints and real consequences.

But there’s a difference between making a hard choice on purpose and letting work win because it has trained you to treat your own life like an interruption.

That’s the part I don’t want you to miss.

After my dad died, I promised myself I would not keep living by that rule.

I still care about doing good work and I really want my work to matter.

But work does not get automatic first place anymore.

If someone I love calls twice, I answer. If my body says something is wrong, I pay attention. If the only reason I’m staying put is because leaving would feel “unprofessional,” I question who taught me that.

Because no meeting I won’t remember gets to outrank the people I can’t replace.

Your job can wait five minutes.

Some calls can’t.

Take care,

Tara

P.S. Here’s my favorite picture of me and my dad on vacation (probably in Myrtle Beach). Thank you for letting me share this story with you this week.