My baby boy, A. J., is sleeping and I walk upstairs to check on him.
As I stare at him, still asleep, the phone rings, and I answer it.
It is a man asking, "is this the home of A. J.?"
I hesitate a moment, but then say "yes."
He then asks, "can I talk to him about the funeral?"
I hesitate, again, for a moment and then say, "you must have the wrong number, A. J. is a baby."
He has no further questions and the conversation politely ends.
At this time in my life, experiences like this would really disturb me.
So, I never mentioned this conversation to anyone, as I thought it so strange.
Seven and a half years later I would attend a family gathering and I would meet an older relative of my son, who had the same name, A. J.
There I would also hear about a sudden and tragic death in his family, that occurred just a few months previously.