Andrew died on November 3, 2009; five months ago today.
How unfathomable that my being has been gouged by my own flesh and blood. By my precious, precious son.
Like a string, pain connects me to him.
But now… I am laughing… Hugh is running late to pick up Florentina from the city. The phone rings, Hugh answers; nobody there. I continue writing, Hugh dials *69, tracks the number: 410 844-1212 and calls it back.
“Do you know who that was?” he asks, bursting into the bedroom smiling from ear to ear.
“When the phone rang I was wondering what time it was,” Hugh explains, suddenly transformed by excitement and wonder, his face is like that of a child on Christmas morning. “When I called the number back it was a time service.”
“What do you mean? What’s a time service” I asked, sitting upright.
“When I dialled, a male voice at the other end gave the exact time.”
“It was Andrew!” I exclaimed.
“I think so,” Hugh agreed, smiling as he hadn’t since Andrew died.
Hugh has gone to pick up Florentina. I am still here, reflecting.
Five months ago we got a phone call to tell us that Andrew had died, this morning we got a phone call to tell us the time.
The time of the day, the time of the month, the time of the year, the time to… What??????