CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #589
Recently I was scrolling through the contacts list in my cell phone, when I came across an entry of a casual acquaintance who had died. This was a very nice person, someone I enjoyed spending time with. There was no real reason we didn't become closer friends. Just the usual excuses, busy lives, and tossed-off promises of lunches and dinners that would never come to pass. Anyway, here was all this person's contact information - email, phone numbers, etc. Was I supposed to delete it? I couldn't think of a reason not to, but pressing the delete button seemed disrespectful, almost irreverent. To die is one thing, to be deleted quite another. Instead, I took a deep breath and called the number. It went to voicemail (thank God). I then left a rambling message about how I wished we'd gotten to know each other better, and that I was sorry I didn't follow up on one of our many threatened lunch dates. It was a silly thing to do, but when I hung up I felt a small bit of closure. Then my phone rang. I looked down and saw his name in the caller ID. I froze. The room started to spin. My heart was pounding in my ears. I took a deep breath, forced myself to press the accept button and put the phone to my ear. It was his son. He was confused as to why I'd called his late father. I promised to explain it over a lunch. Date, TBD.