Send

 

 

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Dannica and I used to communicate constantly through text messages.  Silly, silly stuff!  Not only that, though; there were times we actually had some pretty good talks about things that might not have come up face to face.  I thought of them as ice breakers.  It made those things easier to talk about face to face, later.

Before we had cell phones, we wrote notes.  I wanted her to know it was important to express her feelings to me no matter what they were.  I remember a time when she was much younger.  I was irritated and we weren’t communicating well.  I sent her to her room so we could both calm down.  When I went back a while later so we could talk about things, a little note had been slipped under the door.  “Mom, you hurt my feelings.”

My heart crumbled when I read that.  I knocked and she invited me in and I just held her close and cried and told her how sorry I was.  Regardless of anything else, hurting her feelings had never been my intent and I was grateful she told me what I had done.  I received many little notes from Danni through the years and I saved them all.  From time to time, I’ll find one in a place I didn’t expect such as in a cookbook or in a stack of papers or a journal I haven’t written in for a while and I am crumbled all over again.

Once again, It’s been months since I posted anything here.  See, I had the holidays to get through and that took all the energy I had been able to conserve since August.  New Year’s eve I took on a project involving one of my bookshelves and as I flipped through one of the books there, a Danni Note fell into my lap.  It was written on a little sheet of stationery in pink pen.  At the top of the page is the image of a little angel in a country dress with willow leaves for wings.  She’s holding a watering can in one hand with a butterfly perched on her other and she’s floating over a garden of sunflowers that line the bottom of the page.  The note says, “I don’t know what to write.  I need a hug from mom.”  Aw, little angel… Now it’s your mom who doesn’t know what to write and needs a hug from you.

Hug

I keep Dannica’s cell phone charged and sitting on a table next to the couch where I often sit.  After she passed it continued to make noises each day and I’d pick it up to see the Dicionary.com word of the day.  She was a writer, too.  Though it frustrated her, whenever she’d ask me what a word meant, I’d suggest she look it up and let me know, too.  Text messages and emails from people who didn’t know she’d passed continued to come in for a while.  Even some who did know continued to write to her.  Eventually, service ended.  The phone is no longer even updatable.  The only noise it makes now is a once monthly reminder to transfer $40 into her checking account to pay a bill that no longer exists.  When she would receive a text, her phone used to make this sound.  I miss it.

Danni'sIPhone

One day, I missed hearing from her so much I wondered what might happen if I sent her a text message.  I see her name in my contacts and it’s a conscious effort to ignore it every time I send a text message to my husband, Daniel, because his name is directly above hers in the list.  One day, I selected her name anyway and I wrote her a short note; something I’d said to her many times, something she’d know was from me no matter where she was.  I cried.  I read it over and felt the stabbing pain in the center of my being and I pressed Send.  There it went, with a “who-oop?”

I sat there wondering why I just did that.  Why did I actually send it?  And where did it go??  I still don’t know the answers to those questions.  I picked up her phone and began swiping through her photos and her notes hoping to find something I maybe hadn’t seen yet.  Then my own phone whistled to me from the corner of the couch and the message was there.  My hands shook as I opened it, “Who is this?”

“I’m sorry,” I immediately apologized (what had I been thinking…. honestly) “This used to be my daughter’s number.  I hadn’t stopped to consider it might be someone else’s now.”  Really?  Hadn’t I?  Well, I hadn’t wanted to.

“No problem.”  says this mystery person as yet another part of me flat lines.

Well, now it is someone else’s number.  Another fear faced.  Another life experience I seal myself away with on my down days.  Another something to wrap acceptance around.

Your Own Park Bench (Poem)

Your Own Park Bench

Come, Sit with Me For a Time…

Let’s take a walk, like we used to, arm in arm, happily; silly laughter at silly things that give way to less silly, harder, heavier ones and tears, usually mine, but sometimes yours too.

Let’s go watch the ducks float on the pond and listen to the people in the park.

Ask me anything.

Tell me everything.

We’ll sit silently if you wish.

~<3~