Although I appreciate the concerns, I do wish people would stop texting me when they haven’t seen me for a few days. ‘R U Alive?’ This did not just start happening after I turned sixty. In fact, this has been a regular ‘thing’, since my divorce. I can’t help but wonder why people seem to think that I am incapable of taking care of myself? I assume the reason they think I don’t own a dog is I’m afraid that when I do die alone, in my Grey Gardens-like Townhouse, they’ll find my half-devoured body and a satisfied look on my dog’s face–a result of his enjoying a very nice Italian dinner.
Granted, since my divorce, I have ended up in the hospital a few times, but for reasons beyond my control. A blood clot to the eye was not on my to-do list that day (1. take out the garbage, 2. blood clot to the eye, 3. don’t die). Moreover, four days in the hospital and a bout of short-term memory loss from a flu shot were definitely not on my agenda.
Drunk but not alone, I did fall down the steps backward, once, and hit the wall. They would have found my body pretty quick, though.
Once, when my brother voiced his concerns over this issue, I explained the situation to him. I am always at work – always. Even when I started to write this blog post, New Jersey was under a ‘State of Emergency’, and I was at my desk. Now, I’m no hero, but our Governor, after failing miserably when we had our first huge snowstorm last year, now calls for a ‘State of Emergency’ anytime a snow globe rolls off a shelf.
So, to alleviate my brother’s concern, if I do not show up for work and haven’t informed people of my absence, there is a bucket brigade of friends that will find my broken or dead body within the hour. I hope they bring bagels; I never have any food at my house.
The most recent occurrence was this weekend. I hadn’t spoken to my ex-wife, Arlene, in a few days. On Saturday, I went to a friend’s 60th surprise birthday party and turned off my phone; I didn’t want it to go off at an inappropriate time during the inevitable litany of speeches. Arlene could not reach me and called my sister to check on my whereabouts. Finally, when I turned my phone back on, I saw the text and replied, ‘I am’ to her ‘R U Alive’ question. I guess she didn’t see the message because she called me on my ride home. Once again, I assured her that Death had not come knocking.
I don’t know why Arlene is so concerned if I’m alive or not; she’s not in my will.
Sunday, I headed to Pennsylvania for breakfast, then bowling, with members of my family. I had not gone bowling in years, so if I was going to die, it would have been from embarrassment. Amazing. Put a fifteen-pound bowling ball in my hands and I forget how to take four steps and throw.
As I left, my sister asked me to call her when I got home. I told her I would but probably forget. I did call her, though, as I stopped at Wegmans to pick up some items for the week. Later that night, she called me to say I never called. I reminded her that I called from Wegmans.
“Wegmans is not home,” she informed me. Wegmans is five miles from my house, so I figured ‘close enough’ would count as my ‘got home safe’ call. Guess not.
All kidding aside, I do appreciate the concern.
Of course, I will die one day (probably?), justifying one of those ‘R U Alive’ text messages. When that day comes, however, how will I text back, “No.”
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About Al DeLuise
Al DeLuise is a computer programmer by day, a scotch drinker by night and a divorced, balding father of three all the time. His musings on divorce, fatherhood, and life have been published by the Huffington Post and on his personal blog, conflictandscotch.com.
Granted, since my divorce, I have ended up in the hospital a few times, but for reasons beyond my control. A blood clot to the eye was not on my to-do list that day (1. take out the garbage, 2. blood clot to the eye, 3. don’t die). Moreover, four days in the hospital and a bout of short-term memory loss from a flu shot were definitely not on my agenda.
