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I’ve listened to his voicemail a hundred times.  OK maybe 10.  But the crazy side of me will probably listen to it 90 more times before I delete it.  Psycho.  He asked me to call him back.  So I did.  A few days later.

It was late Sunday afternoon.  The husband was hunting.  The kids were playing nicely.  I decided that, “Mommy needs to make an important phone call.  Please play nicely and I’ll be done in 10 minutes.  We’ll play a game together then!”.  The kids played nicely, the baby stayed sleeping and husband stayed hunting.  I was hoping it would go to voicemail because I wasn’t sure exactly what I would talk to him about.  I had a few things in my head but I hate the awkward silences that sometimes can occur if you really don’t have anything to say!  So I dialed his number and waited.  It rang like 5 times and I was expecting his voicemail.  It was him.  He said hello once and I almost hung up the phone, losing the nerve to actually talk to him like this.  I’m not sure what’s the big deal but here I was, nervous as a school girl on the first day.  It took me a good 2 seconds to say hello back.  I felt about an inch tall.  He was in the middle of something, I have no idea what, but he was happy to hear from me and we talked for just a few minutes.  It was soothing to hear his voice and in a way I was happy than to be talking to him so we didn’t have a game of phone tag.  

There was no awkward silence.  There was no odd conversation.  It’s as if we’ve been talking like this for years; just calling an old friend to say hello.  Calling a friend who wants to know how I am doing.  He wants to know how I’m feeling.  He wants to know how my physical therapy is going and if I’m gaining my strength back.  None of these questions are asked by the man who should be asking them.  I try and tell him and he doesn’t listen.  He has no clue I’m even talking to him.  Where he leaves off, Frank seems to pick up