Leaving a job and turning in my first real smart phone with built in camera. With that comes the anxiety of what to keep and what to delete. Thumbing through pictures of my kids that exist there and nowhere else; wondering if I should go through the trouble of transferring my number to the lesser phone I will end up purchasing; scrolling through the contacts; voice mail.
I found two you left for me some time ago and thought a long time about whether or not to listen before I finally did. In the first, you called me babe so naturally that it hurt to hear. The message was more than a year old, and you were leaving detailed, careful instructions about the type of chicken feed you wanted. In the second, you sounded less certain, more distant. You wanted to tell me about some paranormal activity you thought might be going on in your house. Your voice felt to me somewhere between familiar and strange, and the sound of it set in motion a stampede of memory.
I release you.
A month has passed since I made that vow. You are all around me now but not with me. My hands are not holding on, but something is.
I found two you left for me some time ago and thought a long time about whether or not to listen before I finally did. In the first, you called me babe so naturally that it hurt to hear. The message was more than a year old, and you were leaving detailed, careful instructions about the type of chicken feed you wanted. In the second, you sounded less certain, more distant. You wanted to tell me about some paranormal activity you thought might be going on in your house. Your voice felt to me somewhere between familiar and strange, and the sound of it set in motion a stampede of memory.
I release you.
A month has passed since I made that vow. You are all around me now but not with me. My hands are not holding on, but something is.
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