I’ve been talking out loud to old friends and relatives who died years ago. Often, I do this when I’m out for a walk or driving in my car.
My mom and dad get their share of my questions. They both died in 1999. As usual, my mom speaks up immediately and has all the “right” answers. My father is still timid to give his sage advice when my mother is nearby. I try to catch him when she is busy giving elocution lessons to the apostles.
My go-to guy is my dear friend Dr. Frank Tate, who died in my arms on December 21, 2004. He had degrees in both psychology and literature from the University of Chicago. Over many decades, Frank was my professor, my boss, my employee and always my mentor. Frank was the kindest man I’ve known, always informing me that I could do the next big thing.
I get weird stares from passersby who think I may have lost my marbles. I don’t mind. They aren’t privy to the wisdom and joy that are only mine to cherish.