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Reaching Out from Beyond

Monday, August 1, 2022

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 In order to grasp what I'm talking about, you'll have to read the previous post, so please scroll down if you haven't visited my blog in awhile. I just have to tell you a bit more. 

Phoebe and I continue to be deeply affected by the late-night ride she made, and especially the completely unanticipated aftermath--Bill's old phone number sending out a 911 hangup that caused an officer to drive all the way from Marietta (a 35 mile round trip) to wake us up pounding on the door, thinking there was a 911 emergency at our home. What the what?? 

If that number has been reassigned, why did the old address still carry with it? My daughter, lionheart that she is, called her dad's old phone number last night, and put it on speaker so I could hear. It rang and rang. We stood, tense, listening. Then an automated voice picked up, saying, "The person you are trying to reach has not set up their inbox yet." Or something like that. Phoebe's eyes got wide. Mine, too. 

Maybe, it being three years from his death, the number has just been reassigned, and a new address hasn't been attached to it yet. But why would it send out a 911 hangup? Why would a policeman drive that far at 2 in the morning, to pound on our door and tell us Bill's old number had rung in? B. always had a flair for the dramatic.

I am mulling it over, and was still thinking about it this morning,  text-chatting with my friends who are open to communications from beyond. Tim commented, "So BT3 called 911!" then asked, "What are the odds of that happening on the same evening (as the crazy dark tunnel bike ride)?" I told Tim that nobody would have freaked out bigger or harder than Bill on seeing her ride off into the night. He'd have insisted to be the one to do it, not realizing that she truly was the best candidate; that it was our only recourse, really. Anyone who might have come to pick us up for the night was more than an hour away, and it was late...Lucy thinks that Bill is in the afterlife process of learning, of seeing the bigger picture, and perhaps some truths that he couldn't see before are hitting home. I do have to wonder what he's thinking of BWD's rebirth, and I've felt his spirit near me as I work to make it the best possible reincarnation. "It's all very sweet," Lucy commented, "as he knows Phoebe and Liam are moving forward with their lives in big ways and to the best of his ability he is still at your side (move over, Cur.)"

I was driving slowly and happily down my favorite roads this morning, checking my bluebird boxes, always a bittersweet thing in early August, as this is one of the very last box checks I'll do. They're winding down. Still have some babies as young as 8 days old, but they will be the last of the season. I take my time with these late-summer checks. I love them, love seeing the babies ready to fledge, love cleaning the boxes as best I can, to be ready for next spring.

Peter Frampton's "Show Me the Way" came on the radio. That song always makes me smile and think of lanky high-school aged Bill--Frampton was his top favorite artist then, and stayed in the upper echelons of his favorite musicians. Funny that should happen while I'm thinking of him, and the feat of outreach he may have pulled off the other night.  I checked another nest box, turned on the car, and the Electric Light Orchestra struck up "Telephone Line," a song I love but haven't heard in years upon years. 

"Oh, telephone line, show me a sign. I'm living in twilight." 

At that, I had to talk with him.  Tears streaming, I said, "B, honey, I get it, I get it, Phoebe gets it, you got through! You got through."



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