Catch-up Time?
Pepper Scott
Some birthdays arrive with balloons, candles, and the familiar feeling of another year to celebrate. Others arrive a little quieter. They sit beside us like an old photograph pulled from a drawer, bringing back memories we thought we had tucked away safely.
Terry and Linda’s birthdays were always those happy little markers on the calendar. Two days apart, which meant double the reason to celebrate. Double the laughter. Double the stories.
Now those dates feel different.
They are moments to remember two incredible people who left their own kind of footprints behind. It still feels a little unreal that they are both gone. Somehow, the world keeps turning, seasons keep changing, and yet there are certain moments when I still expect to hear one of them calling or telling a story.
Because talking was their thing.
They both grew up wild in their own unique ways. They had their own personalities, their own adventures, and their own way of seeing the world. But they shared one very important talent.
They could talk.
Terry was a radio man. Talking was as natural to him as breathing. He had a quick mind, a sharp wit, and that amazing ability to know a little bit about almost everything. Actually, more than a little. I was always amazed at how much he knew about so many things. You could ask him about almost anything, and somehow he had a story, a fact, or a clever thought ready to go.
Linda had a different kind of magic.
She loved expressing herself. She had stories to tell, thoughts to share, and feelings that needed somewhere to land. And once Linda started telling a story, well, that story had places to go.
I can still picture Terry and Linda on the phone.
It was a sight to imagine.
For Terry, a man who made a living with words, to not be able to get a word in was almost impossible. And yet somehow, Linda managed to make it happen.
Every time.
It was funny. It was frustrating. It was completely them.
I remember one time Terry was talking with Linda, and he reached his limit. I could see it on his face. The patience was slowly packing its bags and leaving the room. Finally, he handed the phone to me mid-conversation.
I thought, surely she will notice.
She did not.
Linda just kept going. She continued her story, shared her thoughts, and carried right on as if nothing had changed. She finished her story, said goodbye, and ended the call without ever realizing she had switched audiences.
That was Linda.
And that was Terry.
I miss them both.
I miss watching that funny sibling rhythm they had. I miss seeing the love underneath the teasing and the frustration. Because that is what it was. Love. The kind built over a lifetime of shared memories, family stories, and knowing exactly how to push each other’s buttons.
I like to imagine they are somewhere peaceful now, sitting together and catching up on all the things they missed.
I imagine Linda telling a story.
A long one.
A very long one.
And Terry patiently waiting for his turn, probably tapping his fingers and smiling because some things never change.
Maybe he finally gets to finish the story he was trying to tell her all those years ago.
And maybe Linda lets him.
This time.
