My dad died last month. I grieved hard for two weeks, too distraught to teach most days. The first day I returned, I told my six classes what had happened. I broke down each time I said it.
After one of my writing classes, a student who had abruptly lost her beloved grandmother last year slipped me a note she had penned on lined paper. She wrote on both sides, but the part that really spoke to me was, "I know it's hard, but it will get easier in time. It'll seem like your father is on a trip far away and the phone service is bad."
I pictured my dad wearing his countrified wide-brimmed hat, proudly telling angels how he was from Mississippi. I told myself, There are no cell phones in Heaven. My eyes watered, but only happy tears escaped. The burning pain in my heart was gone.
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