My cell phone was ringing and I looked down at the phone. It said “Dad”. It was my stepmother calling. She was using the Nokia cell phone I’d tagged as “Dad.”
It’s the phone my father barely used. He never liked cell phones; never remembered to turn it on. It was strange to get the call more than two weeks after his death.
I’ve heard about signs; messages that come from the dead. When I looked down at the phone it said “Dad” and my first thought was: I wonder what he has to say.
My father-in-law died from multiple mialoma almost three years ago. His distinctive voice is still what I hear whenever I call my mother-in-law and she’s not home. His voice is the one who gives the outgoing message on the answering machine.
What I would give to have a recording of my own grandfather’s voice. His voice was unique, he spoke from somewhere back in his throat, but high in the back and yet low in front, and with his distinctive Amsterdam accent, which he could never shake, having immigrated at age 16, and never wanted to shake, being an Amsterdammer. I think it’s why he so loved to visit us in Brooklyn, because it was the place in America most like Amsterdam.