While riding his bike on a sunny Saturday over a Memorial Day Weekend, my husband’s life ended, within sight of our home. He died of heart failure and despite the efforts of neighbors and EMT’s — he could not be resuscitated. He was not immediately identified because all he carried was his cell phone and that was locked. He died at 12:57 pm. I only learned of his death several hours later. By then, his body was at a funeral home, and I was not able to reunite with him until the holiday weekend had passed. Suddenly and without warning, my life was turned dark and there were no words to describe any of it.
Peter and I met in our 50s and it was evident from the very first meeting that we were the ones we had been searching for all of our lives. We vowed to make up for lost time and promised to grow old together and live to be 100! We supported each other through all the challenges life can bring — we would never be alone again. Every moment we shared was precious.
But now, my love and partner for life was gone. I spent so much time trying to reconcile the way that Peter’s life had ended with the nature of who we were with each other. It was not in our nature to cause pain, or to leave without a word, or to impose a hardship on each other. I couldn’t help but wonder if Peter, now in spirit form, had any consciousness about the way things had happened.
Three days after Peter’s death, while planning his memorial service, my cell phone rang. Caller ID indicated the call was coming from Peter’s cell phone, which was still locked and now in the closet. My heart leapt as I accepted the call, hoping beyond hope that all that had transpired the previous 3 days was a serious mistake. Naturally, there was no one on the other end of the call. But, I was convinced Peter was trying to make contact — to let me know he was still around. I needed to believe that it was him. My spirits were immediately lifted by this sign of his presence — a call from Peter — and I felt supported as I went through the day making plans for his memorial service and receiving condolences from friends and family.
When I felt like I needed more reassurance from Peter, a song by Aretha Franklin came to mind. Who could better send out a message to the spirits than soul sister Aretha?
The song, “Call Me” which she belted out with such desperation, passion and soulfulness, became my plea. I played it as loud as my little Bluetooth speaker could handle. “Call me the minute, the moment, the second that you get there…” I cried. “Don’t forget about me, baby. I love you.” Each time her voice came through, my soul and heart were synced and the longing and sadness I felt finally had a voice.