My granddaughter is very talented. She’s a bright and beautiful star.
My entire family is one shining star. That’s how I feel.
Anyway, Dear Journal, I was sound asleep when my cell phone rang at 1:46 a.m.Sunday morning. I could hear it ringing from the other end of house. The ringtone was my daughter or so I thought. Panic filled my sleepy head as I rushed through the darkness to get to it. Somewhere around my dining room, I thought, what if it’s not MY phone and someone’s in my house. I realized in my hurry that I carried no weapon, no can of long range bug spray, no gun, no way to defend myself.
Journal, I looked down at my hands and thought, I need to use my claws. I then made my hand (right only) look like a claw. What? It truly seemed like a good idea at the time. It's all I had with me.
Luckily, I didn’t need to defend myself because it was my cell phone and it had stopped ringing. Through blurry vision, I verified it was my daughter’s number and immediately called her. But when she didn’t answer, I left a message for her to call back.
I had thoughts. Where could she be at 1:46 am on a Sunday morning? Why was she not at home? Was she in a car trunk somewhere trying to get help?
Then I called her home phone and she answered. I asked why she had called, was there something wrong?
She mumbled in sleepy talk that she was sorry. “My phone dialed you.”
Our call ended and I made a mental note to remember to ask her more tomorrow…or today.
I climbed back into bed wanting to sleep, but my mind was not giving up. Was she being held hostage and trying to tell me something in code?
I snuggled deeper under the covers and went over her words again. My…phone…dialed…you. Was it code? I couldn’t think. I needed to sleep. Hopefully, she would still be alive in morning and could tell me.
Journal, after church she held to her story, but added that when she got up at that hour (probably to remove her contacts) and plugged in her phone, she laid it down on the touch screen and it dialed... me.
Why me? Why not one of her many friends who might be awake at 1:46 a.m.
You gotta love ‘em. No really you do, it’s a law or something.
~ Yours, Journaling Woman