It has been three weeks since the funeral. My last vision of the urn being sent to its final resting place, burned into the back of my eyelids. Twenty-one days since the line of strangers avoid my gaze to tell me, “I’m sorry for your loss…”
I buried a man I’ve barely ever really known. A man who until recently I had listed in my phone as “DON’T ANSWER”, even though it probably should say DAD.
“Such a soul he had…”
“You remind me of him…”
“He’s in a better place…”
My wife rings me, and I look at my phone. I agree to take the dogs to the vet, if she agrees to wear that top that drives me wild on our date night later.
As I wait for the dogs to get checked out, I play with my phone, daring myself to read the text I ignored three weeks ago.
Missed text from “DON’T ANSWER” 12.02 AM, March 10, 2010.
“I feel alone, kid. I can’t take the pain anymore. I’m sorry for what I’ve done, please forgive me. Please respond before it’s too late.”
I press delete.