First Phone Call from Heaven

by Mitch Albom

The news of life is carried via telephone. A baby’s birth, a couple engaged, a tragic accident on a late-night highway—most milestones of the human journey, good or bad, are foreshadowed by the sound of ringing.

You have to start over. That’s what they say. But life is not a board game, and losing a loved one is never really “starting over.” More like “continuing without.”

The only thing scarier than leaving a small town is never leaving it at all.

There are two stories for every life; the one you live, and the one others tell.

There is a time for hello and a time for good-bye. It’s why the act of burying things seems natural, but the act of digging them up does not.

When love dries in a marriage, the children become mortar for the bricks. When the children leave, the bricks just sit atop each other.

“You’re giving them false hope.” Horace crossed his hands on his lap. “What is false about hope?”

“I wasn’t there when you died.” “That’s not your fault.” “I never said good-bye.” “Such a needless word,” she said, “when you love somebody.”