I'm secretly superstitious about phone numbers. Specifically, somewhere deep in my gut I harbor the idea that if a time ever comes when I really need to talk to the ghosts of my family, and I mean really, really need to talk to them, that the universe will somehow intervene and grant me a temporary connection through their old phone line. And if I call the number and it doesn't work, or if someone else answers, that's the universe telling me that I'm better off than I think, and I don't really need to talk to them just yet.
It's the kind of notion that's born of early loss - even though your rational mind knows that this sort of thing can't be real, frankly, your heart will tell you that the sudden death of someone you love can't be real either, so for the time being, all restrictions on imagination are off. Once the blow of grief strikes, a part of your brain never really fuses, a part of your heart is so haunted and fractured, that it requires a fantasy, a cognitive bandage to hold it together for the rest of your life. The phone numbers, two of them that start with 764, are my gauze and my adhesive tape, talismans, if not cures for the injured part of my heart.
At this point the bulk of my close losses is behind me, but it's been a devastating week for people I love, and I'm wishing that they all find the comfort and support they need for what comes next. Superstitions, band-aids, tourniquets, myths, legends, and lullabies: may they each find the talisman that soothes them.
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