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Unknown Caller: Breakfast for dinner is one of my favorite pastimes.
Me: Sounds like an interesting life you lead.
Unknown Caller: Are you being sarcastic? I just realized you don’t use any emojis.
Me: You don’t either.
Unknown Caller: Wouldn’t want to risk using the wrong one, given my autocorrect track record.
Me: Fair point.
The little gray bubbles indicating Lally is texting blink and then disappear. I leave my phone on the bed and finish getting ready. I’ll have to stop and pick up shaving cream on my way to the rehearsal dinner later.
As I make my way downstairs, I pause and gaze at the photos of Sean at the US Naval Academy in Annapolis—one in full dress blues and another seated on top of a Humvee somewhere overseas. There are numerous pictures of him and Nora, one on their wedding day.
The one that brings a lump to my throat is Sean holding Alex—the one time he got to meet his son. I’ve tried to stand in and attend birthdays and other events when I can, but it’s not the same. I’m Uncle Magnus, not Dad. It seems like he and Nora’s boyfriend get along well, which I’m grateful for. Young boys need strong men and good role models in their lives.
A prayer plays in the back of my mind as it so often does—one for forgiveness. One for the things I’ve done and what I’ve failed to do.
I could’ve been a better friend, brother, son, and grandson. I suppose there’s always today. Today and tomorrow and whatever days I’m blessed to live.
And I count those blessings. Every. Single. One.
I shouldn’t be here and that’s not me being self-deprecating or depressed. I’ve been screened for my mental health every which way, up and down, inside and out. The doctors are impressed with my resilience.
I shouldn’t be here because of the accident. What landed me on the no-fly list—not as a civilian, but I am one now—but as a navy pilot.
I’m grounded, and if anything were going to set me spinning, it would be that. But I got lucky. Lucky to still be here, because when that helo went down, I assumed it was over. As the water rushed in, I figured that was it.
I glance up at a photo of Sean wearing a knowing grin. “Thanks, buddy.”
Someone’s smiling on me, that’s for sure.
From outside Nora’s house, the kids laugh and splash in the pool. Someone talks about seating arrangements and how it was all left up to the bride.
“Having FOMO?” a female voice asks.
I almost startle. Frowning, I shake my head. “No.”
Nora smiles. “Ah, then it must be JOMO.”
“JOMO?”
“The Joy of Missing Out.”
I squint, trying to understand her meaning.
“Like, some things we’re afraid to miss out on: FOMO, and others we’re glad we don’t have to experience: JOMO.”
I glance at Sean’s photo and her reminder that yeah, I’m still here, still alive. I should be overjoyed.
“If Sean were here, he’d encourage you to find someone to dance with tomorrow night. To someday say I do to,” Nora says.
“More like I don’t,” I mutter.
She whacks me with a damp pool towel. “Oh stop. Please don’t tell me you’re still thinking about Waxy?”
“Waxy?” I sputter, wondering if I misheard or if Nora is having the verbal equivalent of Lally’s autocorrect.
