Phone home, or not?

My first phone number, the one that was "ours," was Franklin 3-2623, or FR3-2623 as it became known.  How does that translate into today's world?  Basically, you punch in 373-2623 and all's well.  I recall party lines, where several households spoke on the same line, and if you wanted to use the line, you had to wait your turn. So this number has belonged to the Paul Kepple family since...well, I guess since 1948, and suddenly I found myself this morning calling Century Link (previously Qwest) to discontinue it.  I can't recall all the phone companies that have come and gone, but Northwestern Bell is one.

Since Mom isn't using the phone much at all (in fact, I'm not sure she can manipulate the buttons anymore), I wanted to call and see about either disconnecting the line altogether, or "temporarily" disconnecting it.

I got Joe on the line who explained the intricacies of the plans.  I could simply discontinue the line all together (eliminate the number--it would probably be reassigned to another customer in the future), or temporarily disconnect (the number would be reserved for Mom) at a rate reduction of 50% per month.   What to do?

In reality, Mom doesn't need a phone or the number, but it seems I do.  I couldn't give up 507-373-2623, I suddenly realized.  I couldn't sever the connection to my past; I couldn't toss that magic number into the new-customer pot and allow a stranger to use it.  It's the Paul Kepple number.  OUR number.

So in the end, I asked for a temporary disconnect--temporary, that is, until I can come to terms with giving up that part of me, of "us."  Such a surprise that I identify myself so with a crazy phone number.  A poignant moment and realization.