Beep, then a pause, then a hurried
Thissss is Cindy Murphy.
I know this, because over the course of the last 6 1/2 years, I've probably called her phone 1000 plus times. More in the beginning, a little less as time went on. I could because Dad has always paid an extra $10 per month to keep her line active. We didn't have a video camera growing up, so while we have lots of pictures, her voice isn't documented. Having access to those 4 words has always been something I was so thankful for.
Early on, I remember playing it for the boys, and confused them thinking she was still alive. It was brutal having to explain again that she was gone.
Since then, the boys, and Foof too, will ask for me to call Grandma's phone so that they can hear her voice. I've often thought that I should try to figure out a way to record her outgoing message on to my own phone.
You can guess where this is going.
Yesterday, after dropping Foof off at gymnastics, the boys asked me to call grandma's phone. We sat in the car waiting to hear those familiar words. Instead, we heard a man's voice say, "The person you are calling has a voicemail that has not been set up"
I called back. Twice. Each time getting the same unfamiliar voice.
Later, I called my dad. Through hyperventilation, I was able to explain what was going on. He happened to be near the cell phone store so promised to go straight there. They couldn't do anything. He's going to take her phone back in, but we don't hold much hope out that anything can be done.
I can't explain the devastation that I feel right now.
The moment I first saw my mom at the funeral home, I felt like my soul had been ripped out, and I'm pretty sure it sounded that way too.
As ridiculous as it sounds... that's how it feels right now. I feel like I've lost my mom all over again. Or maybe that I've lost that last piece here that I still had.
Dad calls moments of unexpected grief "ambush moments". That's where I'm at. In the middle of that ambush.
I know this, because over the course of the last 6 1/2 years, I've probably called her phone 1000 plus times. More in the beginning, a little less as time went on. I could because Dad has always paid an extra $10 per month to keep her line active. We didn't have a video camera growing up, so while we have lots of pictures, her voice isn't documented. Having access to those 4 words has always been something I was so thankful for.
Early on, I remember playing it for the boys, and confused them thinking she was still alive. It was brutal having to explain again that she was gone.
Since then, the boys, and Foof too, will ask for me to call Grandma's phone so that they can hear her voice. I've often thought that I should try to figure out a way to record her outgoing message on to my own phone.
You can guess where this is going.
Yesterday, after dropping Foof off at gymnastics, the boys asked me to call grandma's phone. We sat in the car waiting to hear those familiar words. Instead, we heard a man's voice say, "The person you are calling has a voicemail that has not been set up"
I called back. Twice. Each time getting the same unfamiliar voice.
Later, I called my dad. Through hyperventilation, I was able to explain what was going on. He happened to be near the cell phone store so promised to go straight there. They couldn't do anything. He's going to take her phone back in, but we don't hold much hope out that anything can be done.
I can't explain the devastation that I feel right now.
The moment I first saw my mom at the funeral home, I felt like my soul had been ripped out, and I'm pretty sure it sounded that way too.
As ridiculous as it sounds... that's how it feels right now. I feel like I've lost my mom all over again. Or maybe that I've lost that last piece here that I still had.
Dad calls moments of unexpected grief "ambush moments". That's where I'm at. In the middle of that ambush.
I feel your pain... ��
ReplyDeleteMy heart broke when my dad passed away--- and shattered the day I realized I couldn't remember what his voice sounded like.