Long Distance

I drove to Atlanta today and, for the first time in ten years, never turned on the radio or CD player. I really didn't want the distraction. I thought about the weekend I was getting ready to spend with my mother and sister; i thoguht about the tremendous amount of work I had to do; I let myself daydream.

But, suddenly, it hit me - what I really wanted to do was talk to my father, and although I knew in the same instant that he was gone, my hand reached for the cell phone. For that second, I was certain that it was possible to contact him hust by opening the phone. If I just hadn't remembered, maybe I could have said what I needed to say - that I haven't found "home" in Atlanta since he died, that he would be proud of all four grandsons, that I would love to talk gardening with him, that just hearing him laugh again would be a blessing. Maybe, for once, I would have the good sense just to listen.