Day 1 Sunday
Dear Sam(sung),
I know it was unconscionable to leave you behind in Kalispell. I was waiting for my ride to take me to the airport for our trip to Boise. My purse was on the kitchen counter, but you were lying on the bed because I had just finished our Bible meditation app. I decided to put the bedroom fan in the guest room for the dogsitter, grabbed my purse, and headed out the door. I assumed you were with me as always, but when I checked my purse and back pocket, you were gone. We were taking off in 10 minutes. I had no choice but to leave you behind. I am so sorry, please don't be angry with me.
I asked Reed to contact Britten to come and take you home with her, so if you had something important to say, she could reach me on the hotel landline. But you know my resourceful daughter, she found a way to forward texts to my hotmail account. I know you understand how important your texts are to me. Thank goodness my laptop was in my briefcase. I don't know what I would have done if I'd forgotten you both. Britten also emailed instructions for how to listen to my voicemail from the huge, corded, antique devices in our hotel room. I want you to know that landlines mean nothing to me now. I moved on from that sort of relationship long ago. I was too tired and distraught to even look at your rivals that night.
Day 2 Monday
Dear Sam,
Sure enough, when I opened my laptop this morning, there were text messages in my email. Most of them were about who was coming to ladies' prayer group that evening. I'm glad that night's meeting was in person, or I would have accumulated dozens of texted prayers on my email in one hour. I miss your texts. I love the way you make them so unobtrusive, a polite little ding to get my attention, like a well trained butler clearing his throat. There were no new voicemails when I checked using the hotel landline, it would be too generous to call it a phone as we understand the word. All it does is make and receive calls. Britten suggested I change my greeting to let people know why I was not answering my phone. It took four tries to leave a greeting I was satisfied with. I know I should have updated our voicemail greeting years ago, but I was counting on you to remind me. I posted on Facebook about our newly separated relationship status, but without you, I can't even send a picture to show where I am.
Day 3 Tuesday
Dear Sam,
You have nothing to fear from your corded competition on the desk and night stand of our hotel room. I realized that trying to call even the few phone numbers I have memorized would involve something from a bygone era called "long distance". Most cell service providers stopped tracking that, much less charging extra for it, years before we got together. Reed and Britten have the phone number of the hotel if they need to reach me, but the process is rather involved. The call first has to be answered at the front desk, then the caller gives that stranger my room number and they transfer the call to the land line in the room. I try to remember to glance at the red light on the device to see if anyone left me a message, but it is hard to remember such an outdated practice. It is like using a key, instead a a fob, to open a car door. If I want to know whether Reed plans to take me to lunch or when he is coming home from the airport, the only way to find out in a timely manner is to stay in the room and wait for the phone to ring!
Day 4 Wednesday
Dear Sam,
I think of you a dozen times a day. And it's not just FOMO on things that may be happening in Kalispell, but I wonder about my friends. How are they doing? What are they eating? And what do they think of my uncharacteristic lack of response? I miss the spiritual encouragement you give me from my verse of the day and Bible study apps. I even miss the sales ads and coupons. Fortunately, the company jet is nearly ready and we should be reunited tomorrow evening. I can hardly wait to hold you again. Reed has apparently forgotten my handicap and asked me to let the dogsitter know we will be back early. I have no idea how to reach her without you. You, Sam, are the keeper of my messages, my contacts, my pictures, my secret passwords.
I cannot promise I will never love another as much you in the years to come. I know your Galaxy family ages more rapidly than I do, you will not always be there for me. But I want you to know that when you weaken and begin to die, I will transfer all the memories we made together to my new love. In that way we will always be united--unless I forget you somewhere.
With speechless anticipation,
Connie
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