Life has funny ways to let us know we have hit one of it's nerves. Sometimes they come as small hints that you could walk right past without noticing if you are not paying attention, and sometimes they hit you right on the face.
I ran into one of the latter today, or rather, it ran me over.
Remember what I said yesterday about death and the loss of conversations it implies?
Here is what I found this morning when I opened my book at a random page (and I will leave it at that, since the story says it all):
Why I don't keep a daily Planner,
by Stace Budzco.
Written on his calendar
on the day of my
father's death, these
words: Call son.
It came from a great little book titled Hint Fiction, and anthology of stories in 25 words or fewer, edited by Robert Swartwood.