ERNIE AND ERNESTINA: Searching

Book Two, Chapter 70: Ernie’s Voice

I accidentally delete all eleven messages on my answering machine. Most of them pre-dated Ernie’s death. Most of them were from Joshua. “Hey, you guys there?” he’d ask.

One message was from Ernie. “Ernestinie. Ernestinie? Ernestinie! Good news.”

Ernie rarely telephoned me because we were rarely apart. This message came about three months before he died, when Joshua accompanied him to a cardiologist’s appointment. If he passed a series of cardiac tests, he’d be given clearance for the big surgery — removal of his bladder and prostate. And he passed. This was his good news. And I just deleted his voice — the only tape I had of his voice.

I think: I don’t need Ernie’s voice on the answering machine. I have it within me. I can listen to it any time I want. Then I think: Ernie’s within me. Not just his voice. His whole person, as much as I know of him, is within me, is with me. I can call on him. He will help me.

Maybe Ernie’s my Higher Power. Why not? He protected me, accepted me, accepted what I now call unacceptable behavior, for forty years. He never betrayed me. He felt anger at me, felt hurt by me, but he didn’t leave me. He would never have left me.

Except he did.

I need him. I need his company, his advice, his gaze upon me. I need his touch. Once all this was mine for the asking. Once it was all mine even when I didn’t ask.

Ernie said, a few weeks before he died: “We’re in this together.”

We still are. He will help extract me from the mud I’m in. He will lift me out of my misery and depression. He will lead me to the light. He will be my light.

I have faith in him. I believe he will help me, and this belief gives me a feeling of calmness. Of hope. Of inspiration.

I feel inspired to live again.