Note to Self
Note to Self, February 4, 2010
My car is a bona fide traveling office, complete with file folders, extra pens, breath mints, hand sanitizer, kleenex and important school fliers. Juggling three kids with varying (read: crazy) schedules has my mental filofax bursting with information. My newest little trick is to leave myself notes on the dash of the car. It’s akin to tying a string on my finger or writing a note on my hand, only better. Every time I’m dashing around town, I will always remember that, yep, we have to bring cheese for Kate’s valentine party.
***
Today I arrived early at one of my many destinations, and with time to burn, I decided to do something I hadn’t done in a long time. I dialed my father’s cell phone.
My mom kept his number live for at least a year after he passed, and every now and then I’d dial his number. Sometimes it would be out of habit; other times it would be just to hear his (recorded) voice. Today I called his number hoping to hear his recorded message, but instead was greeted by a stranger’s voice:
Voice: “Hello? Hello? Hello!”
Me: “………..”
Voice: “Yo, who is this? Who calling me?”
Click.
I knew that my father’s phone number would eventually be recycled, but I never expected it to happen just yet. A few minutes after I hung up, my cell phone rang.
Me: “Hello?”
Voice: “Yeah, um, you called? For D’Angelo?”
Me: (stammering) “Um, no. I…I, uh…no, I’m sorry I must have misdialed.”
Click.
Dad, I was just calling you to say hello. And to tell you I’m fine.
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oh leslie. he knows.
I’m right there with ya… I’ve been known to call our old house number that we had from 1971-1996… (I still know it by heart) I’ve only ever reached a standard voicemail… But, I guess I’m hoping my mom will pick up and say… “mmmyellow..?” like she always did.
I agree, you’re dad knows…
That makes me sad, but happy at the same time…