Audrey likes putting a phone up to her ear and saying, “Eeeeye” “Moooom” (Hi mom) even though I’m right in front of her and she knows she’s just pretending.

I’ve done a little pretending in that vain- just now picking up your iPhone and putting it to my ear- hearing my voice echo loudly as it bounced off the receiver part near my mouth. I tell you you died and that I had to plan your funeral. I tell you it’s been just over a month and it’s been really hard. I tell you I’ll talk to you later. and bye.
Others had felt a similar urge to communicate with you I found right after you died. Having hacked into your email and received your phone, I found emails and text messages telling you goodbye and to rest in peace.
A day or so after I got the phone call, I myself had called your voicemail- even though you were dead and your phone was off in Europe. I listened to my own message weeks later when I got the phone. It was eery. I was calmer than I remembered being- though my voice was weak and shaky:
“I just called to tell you that I love you and I miss you, and I don’t understand what’s happening. I just don’t understand. But I’m here and I just wanted to call and talk to you. I love you Dan…I love you.”
“Hey Dan- it’s me,” I had started out so casually.

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