38 days now.
I’ve gleaned a surface narrative from Jake’s phone records over the past year.
From May 2015, when he apparently purchased his phone, till mid-September 2015, many of Jake’s voice calls and texts were to the number of his friend who died in September.
There are four one-minute conversations to that number on October 1. If Dave had already passed, those calls must have been to his friend’s voice mail. Or perhaps to his friend’s wife.
I’m sorry, Jake. So sorry for your loss.
I don’t have the records yet for December 13-Jan 12.
On Jan 14 he called my old number, then he called and talked to his brother. Then to his best friend.
This was after he’d driven to Texas in December and then come back.
He did not call me on my current number till Feb 4.
His calls and texts to me grow in duration and frequency, till the last few days before he disappeared, when I’m the last person he texted and called, with the exception of a brief call to T-Mobile.
And just now I see, on March 1 at 1:41 pm, a call to his friend’s voice mail. 1 minute.
I can’t remember Jake ever saying he was grieving. He acknowledged sadness when I pressed, but he never went further than that. I wish I’d known how to navigate that terrain. But I can barely navigate the terrain of my own grief, and it’s not the same, anyway. I just wish I could have somehow comforted him.
I saw a little boy today who reminded me of Jake.
Jake’s not a little boy any more.
I know this. I do.
I really do.
I’m just–Mom of it all.
And little boys remind me of how much I love him and his brother.