In the waning days of February, we were on tenterhooks, waiting for news of my terminally-ill mother-in-law's impending departure from this life.
Everyone had said their goodbyes, either in person, or by phone, or both. Mostly both.
It was down to a matter of hours.
You know how it is: Every time the phone rings (or makes whatever sound your phone is set to make for an incoming call, text, or email), there is a moment where you wonder if this is it.
So it was that one morning a few days before our loved one passed away, Greg (on his way out the door to work) asked if I'd heard his phone sounding off the previous night.
Actually it was a pre-dawn time frame. But it was still dark. And we were still. Still asleep.
No, I said, momentarily alarmed. Was there news?
No, he said. It was this. And he showed me his phone.
Let's pull over and park here for a mo. Greg does not own a smart phone. He prefers refuses to use anything but an old-fashioned flip phone.
The rest of us (the kids, and me) have been converted. We are an integral part of the iPhone nation.
It's funny because Greg is much enamored of his iPad (which I don't understand because I don't have one and have no need for one, being a devotee of the MacBook Pro), and he enjoys messaging the kids on it now and then, in the evenings when he's relaxing.
The kids and I text back and forth on our iPhones more or less at any time of the day or night (but mostly day).
(Through it all, I am a firm adherent to the adage that no news is good news.)
Greg does not text at all. Never ever. And he isn't likely to respond to a text. I may have texted him one time, and I cannot remember why. As I recall, he did not answer, either in words or emoticons.
And I am his wife. The old ball and chain. So if I need to get in touch while we're apart, I call. Repeatedly, if need be.
Ergo, for him to be texting with someone in what amounts to the middle of the night, is basically a nonexistent scenario.
But he had been forced to. This was what woke him:
Looking back I really believe this is what you've been trying to push me to all along lately by constantly bringing up negative stuff and always calling our relationship into question...I genuinely love and care for you and your son, but apparently you were anxious to move on for some reason. Perhaps I was in the way of something or someone else...
Whatever the case is, I hope you are happier and more satisfied and I'm sorry I could never do enough to please you or prove that I love you...
I'm sorry I wasn't awake to see my beloved's face in the dim glow of his flip phone, squinting, pawing the nightstand for his cheaters, wondering what was actually going down.
My slumber was undisturbed.
I inquired how Greg had responded to the heartfelt cyber-missive (which I believe was written by a female).
He said, I texted back:
Check your #!
No emoticons. I don't know if they're even available on flip phones.
See, I would have added a string of appropriately exasperation-loaded round yellow faces. Especially the one with eyes and no mouth. I love that one.
I likely would also have used the word moron.
But that's just me.
The funniest part is, a few seconds later Greg received a final text from Madam/Sir Lonelyheart:
Methinks she (or he; who knows) was inebriated.
The takeaway: Don't drink and drive. Don't text and drive. Don't drink and text.
And whether you're eight sheets to the wind or sober as a judge, unless they text you first, don't text anybody between midnight and eight o'clock in the morning.
Just to be safe.
Also: In the interest of leaving total strangers out of your cringeworthy lovelorn ruminations, remonstrations, and supplications, always check your number.
And that is all for now. I hope this post did not disturb you.
Happy Friday :: Happy Weekend