This was the best couple of days I’ve had since my dad died (January 29). I think about him a lot, but now more with control. When I do think about him, I feel like I have a little bit more perspective on things. Wendy and I were in the hot tub the other day, and I was telling her how bad I felt that I couldn’t just call him. I’ve never gone a whole month without hearing his voice. Today I called to talk to my mom and found his voice is still on their answering machine. It was nice to hear his cadence again, the way he said “Bye” on the phone in a slight southern drawl, probably fabricated to be cute decades ago before becoming a forgotten part of his repertoire (he was originally from the least southern state in the union: North Dakota). It didn’t feel odd to hear it, either, but I did think of how preserving someone’s voice–a much more intimate part of one’s identity, even more so than their physical appearance–was a luxury that our grandparents never had. I don’t know what to do with that answering machine greeting; part of me feels like I should capture it and encase it in crystal, another part of me feels like I should let it slip away randomly, perhaps in the next power outage.
“You’re so procrastinating with this car,” Wendy says. This is what I’ve been doing instead of putting the Kia up for sale. Really, I just got the idea last night and I wanted to find a new way to get more writing done. Today we’re going to the car wash.