Since I live for a good 80’s song reference, here’s one for you. When there’s something strange in your neighborhood, who you gonna call? Ghostbusters, of course. No, this isn’t a ghost story, although I could probably share a few unexplained experiences with you another time. This is all about the who you gonna call.
Most folks have emergency contacts indicated in their phones (I won’t call them by their acronym because, you know). But what happens when you’re the one in the middle of a situation and you’ve got to make the phone calls? Who you gonna call at 2 AM when your person is at the hospital in the middle of a major health crisis? It’s 2 AM. Do you dare call? Do you just text? You don’t really have a whole lot of information yourself at this point, not to mention being in power-through-this mode.
These were decisions I had to make when I found myself driving the longest, darkest 20-mile ride of my life, moving at a snail’s pace, praying aloud for no deer, all while simultaneously racing a helicopter to the next place. Was the answer obvious? Maybe. The sisters. Notify our sisters. They show up. They stay calm. They always know what to do. I can tell you that being the one making the middle of the night call is just about as fun as receiving one. Not to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m bearing bad news.
The next few hours were spent sending texts en masse to family members. I figured that if folks had their do-not-disturb mode on, they’d pick up the information in the morning. If by chance they heard the text come in and picked it up, that was okay, too. After the first round of texts and phone calls, I did my best to keep everyone updated with any breaking news.
Immediate family, extended family, pastor friends, and close friends who are like family were all subscribed to my medical jargon filled text updates, whether they liked it or not. After a few days of this, I noticed a pattern in my texting: I reached out to Dennis’s network, but not my own. While I was completely and lovingly supported by family members, I didn’t seek out my network of people. That makes me little sad to think about it now. Note to self: unpack that in a safe space later.
Now that Dennis is gone, I haven’t mustered up the courage to remove him from my phone’s emergency contact list. Not only does that feel final, but it requires picking a new primary contact. It also makes you think that if you are no longer your person’s emergency contact because they’re gone, are you anyone’s contact? (I never said grief infused thinking was rational) The whole situation is yet another grief pinch. Ouch.
I’m so grateful that I have a network of folks who love and support me, family and friends that I can call on any time of day. You are a gift. I know who I’m gonna call.