HEAVENLY POCKET DIAL?

The weirdest thing happened this week: My Captor and I received a facetime call from Danny on Tuesday at 11:37A.

He wasn’t on the line when we answered, of course – his phone and Verizon account deactivated, we’ve no idea how it happened. But it would have been so cool to hear his voice. To have a conversation… one more chance to tell him how much we love him, how proud we are.

As you might imagine, we were mildly freaked out. It joined a text chain with Danny and My Captor whose last entries were about his successful replacement of his missing birth certificate. It was mid-July, two months before his suicide, so he must not have ‘had a plan’ then.

I remembered my mother’s description of her father and brother coming ‘back’ to tell her they were OK, hoping this was Danny’s modern way of doing the same thing. And then realized I’d always taken her story without a shred of doubt – it was my mother of course – and without any questions.

As part of my ‘prodigious research’ for this post, I spoke to my sister and brother to see if they’d asked any questions; a no from each, but my brother reported my mother talking about regular ‘conversations’ with her deceased father, PJ.

So who knows? Another call next week? I’ll even accept the charges if he calls collect. Or maybe an Instagram post from heaven? I bet heavenly social media is otherworldly!

My mind also went to all the movies and novels with the ‘dead reaching out to check on family’ plot line, hoping maybe that’s where this is headed.   

Ultimately, believing my mother’s experience the result of her Irishness, her comfort and reverence for the dead, her love of family.

I guess my Irishness will be confined to a few Guinness(es?) … maybe accompanied by a trip to the Nifty.

But a reminder of perhaps the greatest frustration of death: The permanence. Wouldn’t it be great to have an annual phone call, or maybe lunch? Or a few Guiness together…

Also reminding grief is a monster.

A sneaky one at that, showing up at the most unexpected moments.

Perhaps the worst, when you’re working on a post; I fear this grief chatter is getting old. 

Oddly, following My Captor and my recent discussions whether we’ve ‘properly grieved’; but properly after 21 months, shouldn’t Dan be fully grieved and this be over with?

What is ‘proper grief’ anyway?

Parts of the answer I know – there is no single answer. And it never gets better, never ends.

Fortunately, we know how lucky we are; for so many things, but largely for the time we had with Danny.

Even odder timing, given our recent couple’s book club discussion of Love Is Not Enough, which was mildly surreal, like being under a microscope, but echoing what we’ve heard from others:

Tough to put down … tough to keep reading … so much I didn’t know … so much love.

The high point: Sharing our good news, the entire family now among the ‘mentally alive’; Nick and Matt working jobs each likes, having made it through their difficult-to-watch grieving processes, fearing we might lose another son or two.

A low point: In discussing ‘properly grieved’, neither of us able to give an unqualified yes. Which led to a discussion of how the grieving process is different for everyone, different timing…

Ultimately, I’m struck by what an odd activity grieving is: You spend so much time at it, unsure it’s working, with no read on when it ends.

If ever.

ENHANCE YOUR ENJOYMENT OF THIS POST, PAIR WITH THE FOLLOWING ‘AGING HIPSTER MUSIC/READING’:

New Johnny Marr album soon, single out now.

And Love Is Not Enough still available on Amazon. What a great read for anyone who has dealt with mental health or addiction issues. Or just wants to read about family love and recovery.