Marty’s blog

When I scroll through the numbers programmed into my cell phone, I pass the number of my friend Doris who died this last month. I haven’t deleted it yet. I always pause at her number and want to press “call” and see if she’ll pick up, as if I just dreamed her death.

Then I think I should delete it, because every time I see it I want to cry. But I can’t delete it yet. Someday — but not today — will be the right time.