I can’t delete you

I can’t delete you.

I scroll past you, knowing there’s no chance of contact. No quick hello. No five minute chat. I can’t send out a last minute email with arrival times and new phone numbers.

“I’ll call you when we get into town – I understand if you’re not up to it”.  I’ve read it over and over. “Love you B”.

I didn’t know that was it. My last chance.

Your name is still there. You’re still a “friend” a “contact”.

I can’t delete it.

Skype tells me you’re “available”. You’re not.

I’ve hovered over your name, smiled back at your grin.

Wouldn’t that be amazing? How much would a call to the after-life cost?

I joined your memorial page. It helped in the beginning. I saw all of the other faces, people I’d heard you speak of but had never met. They all had different names for you. Habes, Bling, Bel and B. Terms of affection and references that can be tracked like date stamps. Different countries, different memories, the same sentiment.

I mulled over the photos. It helped. I realized that we were just a tiny part of a big life. That we were lucky to have the time we had.

And then it got quiet.

Until your birthday.

More photos, more memories, more messages. More tears.

And then, over time, it dwindled, and became quiet again.

You appeared in my thoughts because I’d put you there. A frangipani, an Indonesian soup, a new friend who reminds me of you.

My thoughts, unless technology jumped in with another reminder.

I was mid sentence today when I glanced down and saw they’d been an update. A picture of you. You’re in the pool. I normally would have written “Hey, I like your bathers!”

Instead, I just clicked “like” – but I don’t.

I don’t like.

You’re here, but you’re not.

I can’t delete you.

Grief and technology. A cruel combination.

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