Peter and I left home together last Wednesday. After we parked the car, we parted, both within a five-minute walk of our destinations. I was off to work, and he was meeting his friend Adam for coffee. It was 8:40.
Forty minutes later, I got a call from Adam asking if I knew why Peter hadn’t kept their appointment. It didn’t take long for me to decide that the worst had happened—either he had collapsed with a fatal heart attack, been hit by a car, or had fallen and was lying unconscious in the gutter.
My first thoughts:
- Peter had an easy death. That’s how he would like to go.
- At least we had just had a wonderful time together in India.
- How could I reach our older son Seth in Shanghai?
- Should I call Jeremy (our younger son) before I know more?
I started by calling Peter’s cell phone. As I expected, it wasn’t turned on. I called home to see if there were any messages (from the police or whomever). Nothing. Then I accepted Adam’s offer of help and asked him to walk to where we had parked the car to see if it was gone.
Of course, the story ended well, or this would be a very different blog posting. Turns out that they had both been waiting in the right place, but had somehow missed each other. Unbelievable.
More than a week later, I still hold Peter longer when we go to bed. Each moment that we have together is suddenly even more precious.
And, he’s promised to keep his cell phone on—at last.