My daughter spent her holiday President’s Day weekend last week camping with friends in Big Sur. They arrived late Friday evening after a long drive up from Los Angeles. She texted me that she arrived safely, and then I didn’t hear anything more from her the rest of the weekend.

Radio silence.

I am spoiled, I guess, because I am used to daily contact with her. Not that we talk everyday. But we exchange a text, or a Snapchat, or (the newest app that she encouraged me to sign up for) a “Be Real” moment, where you snap a photo of whatever you are doing at the time that the app sends you a prompt. Through “Be Real,” I get a glimpse of the ordinary moments of her days: when she is at Trader Joe’s shopping for groceries, or walking to class, or sitting in her room on her bed reading. She can also see me: cutting carrots in the kitchen or trying to start the fire after a long day away.

I like “Be Real.”  The easy contact is regular and comforting.

Big Sur sunset. While I was worrying, she was living.

I knew that cell phone service on the coast can be spotty. I knew that her phone might run out of battery (and I mentally chastised myself for forgetting to buy her a solar cell phone charger for Christmas. We talked about that and decided it would be a good purchase. But I never followed through.)

I wasn’t too concerned when I didn’t hear from her Saturday. Or Sunday. But by Monday? I was anxious to connect again. I worked Monday. Had four massages. Confess that I was distracted as the afternoon wore on. Wondered if my clients could sense the stress in my hands, as my phone stayed silent, no text notifications coming through.

Thought a lot about when I should reasonably expect to hear from her. Continue Reading…