Some twenty years ago my cell phone rang and when I answered it I could hear muffled talking but my sister, who’s phone I was listening to, didn’t respond to my repeated hellos. I had been, as they said back then, butt-called.
Later in the day I talked to my mom, something I didn’t do every day, and she mentioned that she hadn’t heard from my sister in some time. So when I called my sister back to tell her about the butt-call I told her mom would like to hear from her. My sister called mom that evening and they talked. I don’t know about what, most likely just typical daily things, the weather, work, when they might get together. I’m guessing it was a nothing special call.
And then, a few days later, mom died suddenly, and all opportunities for conversation ended.
Last week, on February 25th my cousin, who doesn’t call me very often, called on Facebook messenger. My phone made strange noises and lit up. I don’t know how to answer a Facebook call, and I fumbled around tapping different things trying to respond. At 3:22 messenger said I had “missed audio call” and there was a button that said CALL BACK. I didn’t, but I did message her that I was sorry I missed her call and that I didn’t know how to answer Facebook calls.
About an hour later she called me directly, without the ‘help’ of Facebook, and asked if I had tried to call her. We laughed about who called who and technology being smarter than we were. She said she was in a rehab place, doing physical therapy and getting stronger after a recent hospital stay. She said she was glad to be there, getting better, but she sure wanted to go home.
We talked about what my siblings were doing, and what her grandchildren were doing. We talked about the family Christmas dinner that she hadn’t been strong enough to attend and how much all those people meant to her. And we talked about Christmas Eve when her children and their children gathered at her house and they opened gifts and how wonderful the time together was. It was a nothing special kind of call.
Sunday, March 3rd, just one week after that conversation, my cousin’s daughter let me know her mom had died, unexpectedly, at the hospital where she had gone a couple days before. And I instantly thought about our last phone call. The one that shouldn’t have happened but did because we were, in effect, each butt-called.
I am so grateful for both technical glitches that put me in touch with people I might not have talked to that day. I’m grateful for technology giving us a chance to connect, not knowing it would be our last chance.
And here’s the lesson I learned from all of this — you never know when it’s your last conversation. Each time you say hello and then goodbye is precious, and maybe we shouldn’t wait for technology to do the calling for us. Maybe we should just pick up the phone more often and connect with the people we love.
Godspeed, Joyce Braun. Condolences, hugs and prayers to your children, grandchildren and extended family. We’re all going to miss you so much. And thanks for picking up the phone and calling me. It was always great talking with you.
Change Is Hard 