When I was a girl, one of my
classmates suffered a grisly,
wrenching family tragedy.
The truck her father and two
brothers were in was hit by a
train, killing all three instantly.
My classmate was absent from
school for so long it seemed
she might have died, too. I
remember riding the school
bus, staring out the window at
her house, wondering about
her every day as we passed by.
I caught a glimpse of her only
once during that long time.
She was wearing a heavy coat,
carrying trash to the burn-pile.
It didn’t occur to me that I might
call my classmate and talk with
her. Kids didn’t normally call
kids. Phones–and conversations
about death–were for grown-ups.
So I was a little awed when our
grand-daughter did what she
did. Two days after the father
of one of her best friends died,
our grand-daughter entered
into her friend’s grief with her.
They connected quietly, friend-
to-friend, face-to-face via
FaceTime on their phones.
We shake our heads over our
kids’ addiction to their phones,
judging all the texting, e-mail-
ing, and video-chatting a waste
of time, only pseudo- or faux-
relational. Our grand-daughter
is at that digital age, which can
be almost any age at all it now
seems. Phones aren’t just for
grown-ups anymore. Neither
are conversations about death.
Ann Keiffer
April, 2015
Image: Google Search, Alamy
