Call a friend. Write something.
I don’t actually have the energy to call anyone right now. Past me couldn’t have known this. Phone calls…they used to be one of my favourite things when I was a kid. A cause for genuine excitement. A chance to talk with my friends.
I love voices. I enjoy hearing people talking. When I was little I would rush to the phone to answer it. “Wake, speaking.” That wasn’t my name then but it’s fun to imagine it has always been my name.
“Are your parents there?” I would then yell for my mom or my dad or have my babysitter take over. It felt like an important job. And sometimes it would be my Nanny, my great-grandmother, who passed away when I was 8. And she, she would want to talk with me. And I loved to talk and to listen to the stories of her day.
In fact our last phone conversation was when I was 8 years old. She called, and my mom was outside gardening, and my Nanny was making chowder. And we talked for a good while. And I asked if I should go get my mom. And she said, no, I called to talk with you.
And I was the very last person she spoke with.
After she got off the phone with me, she had a stroke. And that night when my parents both came into my room…I already knew she was gone. I could feel it. And I felt grateful for that last phone call.
Phone calls have always had a magical quality for me.
I have more to say about phone calls, but my partner is ready to go. We are going to go see Perfect Days at a small theatre in a town nearby. And I’m tired, but excited.
And I wrote something.
Heart,
Wake
P.S. I just got back from a small independent theatre matinee showing of Perfect Days.
Sitting in a theatre with other humans in the dark…giggling…weeping…sighing. It was exactly what I needed. It was perfect. The whole thing.