Insert your own Rob Van Winkle joke here
LOD’s post about dying made me tear up. Death isn’t something I think about a lot, or fear particularly. I’m too busy worrying about paying my rent and being All Alone For The Rest Of My Life. (Strangely, I realized I was All Alone last Sunday when the only football team I cared about was the Browns and only because my brother lives in Cleveland. I have my college teams, but no NFL allegiance, and it hit me that I had no reason to want any team to win but that if I had a partner I probably would care just by association. It’s weird the stuff that creeps up on you. Anyway.) So I was sad that LOD lost a friend and is now going through this thing about his own mortality.
What immediately hit me about my own situation was that if something happened to me (and I’m thinking “hit by a renegade cab driver” or “spontaneous combustion from subway rage” as the two most likely things that could take me down), my rescuers have no mechanism to let LOD know. He’s only listed in my phone under his first name, with nothing else to distinguish him from my hairstylist or a high school friend. I have four ICE people (“in case of emergency” tagged with “ICE” so anyone who found my phone could search by that to know who to call) but the first two have never even met LOD and wouldn’t know how to reach him. The third is my mom, who could reach LOD, but it’s still a convoluted chain.
I don’t love the idea of having LOD be my emergency contact. Because he’s not who I would want to know first if something happened to me, or who I would want to be there if I woke up (please) in a hospital somewhere. But he needs to know because of the boys, so I think he’s going to have to become an ICE in my phone.