From what I gather, there are no cell phones in heaven, a zip code that, Torah-wise, gets no mention. Still, it's nice to think of a nice place where nice people go when the meter runs out and they no longer have to search for a parking spot. Speaking of which, my dad, the birthday mensch in absentia, always had the greatest parking karma. He'd just put it out there -- "I'm going to find a great spot right in front of the restaurant" -- and more often than not, it would simply materialize. Toward the end, finding anything -- wallet, keys, jacket -- brought him such aggravation. Finding his cell phone -- that was the worst. There were long searches through the condo, long land-line conversations. "Daddy, did you check in the den?" "I checked." "Did you check in the kitchen?" "I checked." "What about the bathroom, Daddy?" "The bathroom? Hmm." And there it was on the bathroom counter, the cell phone, charging.
Maybe it's a good thing cell phones aren't allowed in heaven. Who needs to spend eternity looking for a mobile device? Just the same, I wish I could call him up today. I wish he could answer. But you know what? I may just sing to him, anyway.
High school graduation, 1975. What I wouldn't
give to get a hug like that again.
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