True Story of a PCFTD in Virginia (submitted 9/29/2003)

One fall day, in the beginning of the 1983 school year, I claimed to have an upset stomach -- CLAIMED, because in reality I was not sick; I just didn't feel like going to school! In any event, I spent the day at my grandmother's house. Well, Grandma had to run an errand just down the road. Since I was an extrememly responsible 11-year old, and since my aunt was just next door, and because I was sick (ha!), Grandma left me alone. Soon after Grandma left, the telephone rang and I answered it.

I immediately recognized the voice of my grandfather on the phone, but I remember being thunderstruck because IT COULD NOT BE HIM! He said, "How are you?" I said fine -- then silence. I said, "Who is this?" He said, "I can't tell you." I repeated, "Who is this?" with the same response. Believe me, I KNEW that voice -- I still remember how sad the voice sounded when he said, "I can't tell you, I have to go now." Then silence.

I've never received a phone call like that again.

In connection with my grandfather, it may be noteworthy to mention that one evening two years ago, my husband and I had gathered with some friends for conversation up in the Virginia mountains. I told a friend the above story. The next morning, my border collie puppy (Bosco) pulled a particular doll out of a box in one of my closets (this was a box of "stuff" that had been put away for years). I had forgotten about this doll until I saw Bosco obediently bring it to me without ripping it to pieces -- as he had a tendency to do! It was the doll that my grandfather had given me the last Christmas of his life.

Jane