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A modern life in airplane mode

 


A quarter of my life has passed without my father being around to hear about it. I used to enjoy calling him on Saturday nights, catching him up and just chatting about whatever, and for months after his death in 2003, I’d sometimes find myself reaching for the phone.

It’s an eerie sensation, muscle memory, twitches of routine that result in a dead end. I’d go so far as to hold the phone in my hand, staring, knowing I was supposed to do something but suddenly unsure of what, until I realized. I was about to call Dad.

It was nearing the end of an era, anyway. Within a few years, our...



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