It’s inevitable. People come, people go. Some stay longer than you’d like, some are gone way too soon.
One minute… I was changing the starter in my truck. I called my dad to tell him all about it. I left a message. Later that night I got the call that he was on life support. I flew out to Salt Lake City the next morning, I said good-bye and then he was gone.
We used to talk on the phone for a long time, usually until my battery died. We would talk about nothing. I just wanted to hear his voice. As time went on, though, the conversations got shorter, I could tell he was having trouble breathing. We would chat online. It’s not the same, but at least I could talk to him whenever I wanted to.
I don’t have much to remember him by, just some trinkets I’ve collected over the years and a bit of his ashes. I kept them in the box for a long time. Seeing them reminded me that I wasn’t a very good daughter. I should have called more, visited more, been more. It’s too late for all of that. I had a part of his ashes turned in to a glass orb for myself and a glass heart for my sister.
I miss his laugh, his voice… it seems like forever, feels like a minute. It doesn’t hurt less, just less often. It’s not that I don’t think about him, I do, it’s that I remember ridiculous things. The good parts. Today I am grateful for technology, it lets me hear his voice one last time. For one sweet moment.