My Philippine born mom died a little before 1PM on March 31st in 1993. My siblings and I were with her as we had chosen that time to take her off of life support. After she had passed, my brothers and sisters gave me a moment alone with her. I had been her primary care giver throughout her illness. She had been in a coma for the last of her days so the nurses had had her body propped up in various angles to ward off bedsores. As I stood in her room and said my private goodbye, I removed the cushions. It was my final act in the care of her. She was at rest. Finally.

Later that night, a few friends had assembled at our house to commiserate with us. One of my friends asked if she could use the phone; there were only landlines in 1993. She wanted to call and check on her children. She called her boyfriend who told her the kids had not been brought home yet. She then called her ex-husband to see what was going on. She then called her boyfriend back with the update.

In between my friend’s calls to her boyfriend, he had received another call that she related to me afterward. He said a woman with a vague, indistinguishable accent had called and asked him, “Why did you move the cushions from under my legs?”

“Excuse me?” he answered.

“Oh sorry, wrong number,” the woman said. And hung up.

I didn’t know they had phones in the afterlife.

Some years later, I took two younger family members on a road trip. It was a long drive and we passed the time playing road games and conversations. I told them about the night their grandmother died and how we believed that that call was a message from her. They didn’t outright disbelieve me, but I’m sure they had their doubts.

It wasn’t in the earliest days of cell phones, but it was long before the wide use of smartphones. It was my habit to let one of them answer the phone if I was driving. After I told them the story and we finished with the ensuing discussion, my phone cell phone rang. The elder of the two said the screen identified it as an unknown caller. I told her to answer it. As soon as she hit the answer button, the air and mood in car changed. She said hello a few times waiting for a response between each word. But I already knew. She said she only heard her own voice but like in an echo. She was too young to understand she had spoken into a void.

I guess the afterlife has access to cellphones, too.