Stuff from My Husband’s Cell Phone
Julie McGue
Author
As many of you know, I’m currently in Spain hiking a section of the El Camino trail with Laura Davis (The Writer’s Journey) and twelve other “Creative Pilgrims.” Before I left on this trip of a lifetime, I posted “The Very Simple but ‘Must Know’ Travel List” on my blog/newsletter. The response to its content has been heart-warming. I’m grateful to know the information has served others.
Because I’m still hiking and writing new material, today’s blog is a repost of an essay I wrote after my husband died in February 2022. Enjoy the read, or reread! And as always, feel free to share my words with others:
Experts claim that it takes two to three weeks to establish a new habit. Several months ago, I was forced into a new routine. One that still feels awkward. I check my late husband’s cell phone at least once a day.
After my spouse passed away in February (bladder cancer), I realized several things. First, I didn’t have the correct password for his computer, which meant I couldn’t log in and locate important files. But because I had his cell phone and knew the passcode, I was able to gain access to crucial data through emails and application programs. Over the last few months, my spouse’s phone has proven to be a comfort, a treasure trove of material, and very enlightening.
When I was immersed in funeral planning, his phone provided contact information for friends and business associates. As I worked through his electronic address book, I was both surprised and relieved at how my husband recorded details. He was a guy who liked information at his fingertips and despised fishing for account numbers, passwords, and pins in cumbersome file folders. So, he circumvented those frustrations by storing crucial data within the contact app of his phone. Security conscious folks are no doubt cringing at this method, but it worked well for him while he was alive. And it made transferring household accounts into my name less of an ordeal.
After the funeral was over and I’d sorted out the bulk of our accounts, I continued to foster my new habit. Every night, I connected my husband’s chunky black cell phone to its charger next to mine. In the morning after I’d gone through my own emails, I reached for his phone. I scrolled through his text messages, emails, and phone call log. Not because I was curious about what he’d been up to during the nearly four decades of our marriage. Not because I was dwelling in what our life had been like before his death. No, I was drawn to his phone because each time I picked it up, I learned something. Like a vital bit of information that I needed to act on now. Things like the name of the internet provider for a rental property who needed to be paid before the service was cut off. Or an alert from a crucial vendor about an expiring credit card tied to the account.
The daily scrutiny of my spouse’s phone meant timely errors were avoided and frustrations minimized. That’s not all. Often, I picked up phone messages from folks that hadn’t yet received the unfortunate news of his passing. Several weeks after my husband’s funeral, I retrieved a voicemail that will forever stick in my head. The caller, a longtime friend, a man who had attended my husband’s funeral and reception left an agonizing message.
The language was stronger than is suitable for this post, but here’s the gist of it:
“Why did you have to go and die on me? You were a heckuva good friend. Who am I going to call now to shoot the breeze with?”
Every so often, I replay this message. Each time I listen, I feel my heartbeat in my throat. When I first picked up the voicemail, I was shocked at its intensity. I wondered if this man realized–or if he cared–that someone like me might eavesdrop. With each replay, though, I’m left with a fresh thought. I hope that this man found solace by expressing his grief in this unusual way. I have come to admire this friend, his style, and the notion of crafting a verbal sympathy card.
Lately, I ponder the depth of the friendship shared between my husband and his friend.
As his spouse, I knew that the two were good pals. They often shared laughs, confidences, and life experiences over drinks like buddies do, but the recorded message suggested a deeper bond than the one I’d witnessed. In reflecting on this, I think that often we do not know, or cannot know, how deeply others value our friendship. Perhaps, too, when a special person is no longer present in our lives, we realize the abundant void their loss created.
I doubt that I will surrender my new habit anytime soon. Mining my husband’s phone may have started off as a necessity, but its importance continues. Besides educating me about what I need to know about financial matters, I’m privy to a different aspect of my husband’s legacy. He was a man of depth and character. The texts and emails and voicemails I retrieve from his cell, remind me of this every day. It provides great comfort.
I have come to view my husband’s cell phone as more than an electronic device or a necessary tool. It’s tangible proof of a life well lived. So, for the time being, I plan to keep it charged up and close by.
Follow Me Here
In September (1-16th) Julie joins Laura Davis (The Writer’s Journey) and other like-minded pilgrims to hike, write, and paint along the El Camino trail in northern Spain.
In October (18-20th), Julie will attend Florida WritersCon in Orlando, FL with colleagues from the Florida Writers Association (FWA).
In November (14-17th), Julie will attend Story Studio’s four day writing retreat with instructors Rebecca Makkai and Vu Tran at the Guesthouse Hotel in Chicago’s Andersonville neighborhood. The theme for the retreat is “5,000-Word Weekend” and will feature craft talks and one-on-ones from both instructors.
On February 4, 2025, Julie’s new memoir, Twice the Family: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Sisterhood hits the bookshelves. It’s the long-awaited prequel to her award-winning debut, Twice a Daughter.
Follow Julie by visiting her website, subscribe to her bimonthly newsletters, and listen to previous podcast recordings where she discusses topics like adoption, identity, and belonging.
I’m Still Reading
The Art of Power by Nancy Pelosi*
An Unfinished Love Story by Doris Kearns Goodwin*
*Both authors I had the privilege of seeing in person at the University Club of Chicago in conversation with their respective moderators: David Axelrod and David Brooks
Top of My TBR (to-be-read) List
The Trespasser by Tana French
The Tea Girl of Hummingbird Lane by Lisa See
“I have come to view my husband’s cell phone as more than an electronic device or a necessary tool. It’s tangible proof of a life well lived.”
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