the address book

Denial is a strong and powerful emotion.

Austin was poking around in my latest cell phone when he stopped; "You still have grandpa's number in your phone." "Yeah." I sighed. It was a revelation to him as much as it was a statement to me.

I was trying to call my brother last week when instinctively I called dad by mistake - their numbers only differ by the last two digits. I hung up before anyone could answer. More likely I hung up before hearing the emotionless voice informing me that this number is no longer in service. A reminder I didn't want or need to hear.
The truth is, I still have his phone number in my address book too. Don and Alice. I can't even cross it out. That would be too final.

Austin asked what would happen if we called grandpa's number? Would anyone answer? I suppose someone else could've been assigned the number by now. I admitted how I had called grandpa's number by accident, but that I hung up right away. We left the conversation at that. My mind doesn't really want to know if someone else lives in that number now - to me that number is that house. My house, my childhood - and dad's house. How strange that you can associate so much with a simple phone number. The identity it gives you is astounding to me.

That night, just before I fell asleep, a night where my dad ended up visiting me in my dreams, I wondered what it would be like to call the number and actually hear him answer.

A story seed was rolling around inside my head. Doesn't everyone have that desperate desire to communicate with a deceased loved one? One last conversation, apology, words of love or forgiveness. What would you say if you could have one last talk? What if you could continue talking; would talking be enough? That seed is carefully germinating in my head at night.

In the back of my mind I'm thinking that maybe someday I will call, and if anyone answers, just maybe, I'll ask for Don. For the time being, I'll just have to keep tending to that seed, believing he's still there, as he is, in my address book.

2 comments:

doily boy said...

Hey,
I came to your page via Vazaar and wandered into your posts about your dad. I enjoyed the read. Not quite sure 'enjoyed' is such a good word, but I've been there, felt what you're feeling and reading your words and seeing the images... somehow, just 'enjoyed' my own memories. So thanks.

KBax said...

Thank you very much for taking the time to read my story. I'm glad that in my words you could find some feeling of familiarity to your own story. We all have stories to tell, but it's nice when someone can appreciate yours. My best to you.