I came across some digital files I apparently recorded in the hours and day after my father died and it reminded me about the days when having an “answering machine” in your home was a new thing.
This video explains a bit about the second video which sorta tears my heart to pieces…the second one is much more about the audio, less about the video.
I remember hearing the voices of my loved ones calling to lend their support; now that I hear them, I can say I only remember the feelings and not the words or people.I remember feeling loved and like I need not worry.
I don’t remember deciding to save these which I paid some company to do (I now realize). Now that I’ve listened, I understand why I did.
On my voicemail were some very simple sounds of my father’s voice on the day before he died. They were the last I would ever hear.
There were a lot of other loving messages that I’ve included, and a lot of noise.It made me realize how thankful I am to be loved. It made me realize how much I take for granted that this is the case.
It made me realize how unbounded heartbreak would become in a life where messages such as these didn’t exist.
My father called me almost constantly in the final years of his life, always during my work day, always frustrating me. He didn’t just call once, he would call four times in a row, breaking down my resistance until I was convinced he was dying and stepped out of meetings to answer, only to hear him sing at me.
The joke continues to be on me – as is the opportunity to learn.
I’d give anything for the type of frustration I felt because of his constant phone calls.
I’d give anything for the certainty I now understand was his way of showing love.