The Finality of Deleting the Deceased Friends from your Phone
The other day I’m waiting to get my car out of a garage in Midtown when I remember I need to make a call. The attendant pulls my vehicle around and jumps out. I hand him a tip and he smiles and tells me to have a great night.
“See you next Monday,” I say. I hop in. Then with my right thumb I press the phone icon, click “search” and start to type. M-I— that’s when I see Uncle Mitch’s name.
I stare at it, forgetting the call I need to make. My eyes blink at the pace of a turn signal as I let out a few short, deep breaths. Beep beep. In my rearview mirror I see a car waiting behind me. I throw my car in drive and pull out. Before I hit the Midtown Tunnel, I feel a tear forming and then slowly rolling down my cheek. By the time I get to the other side of the river I’m sobbing. I’ve thought a lot about Mitch since he passed, but on this particular day I’m not sure if I’ve taken a moment yet.
