Hearing Her Voice

A while back, while running in the rain, my iPhone died. I had saved a number of phone messages from my mom on it, calls from before she was too weak to call me. Of course I hadn't backed up my messages so losing that phone broke my heart. I knew what I'd lost.

My mom was still alive and the phone replaced when that iPhone came back to life beneath a thick covering of rice. Closer to being a motherless daughter, I knew what I'd found.

This weekend I listened to those messages. I sat on the corner of the couch, knees pulled up to my chest, and cried as I listened to my mom speak. To me. One after another, messages spanning the course of two years. She had a cold, she was going to the dentist, she'd left the key in the garage, would I come by and help her with something... Small ordinary moments in life that now take on more significance than ever. Did I return the call? Did I stop by? Did I tell her to feel better? I hope so.

I'll probably never delete those messages from my cell phone. I love hearing her voice. It's better than the videos I have of her, because here she's talking to me.

She knew I loved her, but I wish I could tell her, better yet show her, just one more time. A quick call to check-in, a visit to help her find a lost purse... whatever it was. A gentle reminder of how important it is to demonstrate our love for others. Every day.