I drove two blocks from the house and reached down to pat my left hip, as I have done every time I’ve left my house for the past seven years. I fully expected to feel my cell phone clipped to the waist of my jeans. When I realized that what I felt was simply the waist of my jeans and no cell phone, I immediately broke into a cold sweat. That overwhelming feeling of panic set in and I nearly stopped breathing. “WHERE IS MY CELL PHONE?” I screamed.
I was already late for my appointment but I was not driving one inch further from the house without my phone. My son was deployed and there was no way I was taking a chance on missing a call. He wasn’t supposed to be calling, I just wanted to be ready if he did call.
There is nothing worse than coming in the house to find a message on your answering machine that confirms you have missed the scarce and infrequent call from your “deployed to a war zone” child. That only had to happen once for me to rethink the way I was going to handle the situation. I couldn’t control much about the war, but I was certainly going to control the few and far between phone calls I received.