My Fathers Voice
Timber found some VHS tapes today in the basement that were taken during our wedding in 1990. The tapes are hours long — the rehersal dinner, the wedding, the reception. We played them on her little TV we bought at the thrift store for $8.00.
Timber never met my father. My father died in March of 1998. Timber was born four years later. Of course, she never met him, he died before she born. But it never really occured to me that she never heard his voice.
Okay, I do have common sense. If he is dead, he is also not talking.
He did not pass away, or go on to his reward. He died, he is dead. And along that tangent, if you put your dog to sleep. He is also dead. He is not sleeping.
She had seen photographs of him. She knew what he looked like. But it was a two dimensional grandfather. I had memories of him that I could not share. But when we watched the videos she could hear his voice. She could see a three dimensional grandfather.
We could hear his voice. That is what I miss. Hearing his voice. I left home when I was 20, and would call him every Sunday afternoon. The Sunday after he died, I picked up the phone to call him, and then remembered he was dead. The habit of calling 306-382-7933, was more vivid than the memory of his open silent mouth in the quiet hospital room.
Sometimes I want to dial my old telephone number and ask for Bill. I like to think all old phone numbers are sent on to heaven, and my dad would answer. A twilight zone of phone numbers.
About Pamela Hodges
My name is Pamela Hodges. I am a writer and an artist. I write to encourage and to bring laughter. I paint cats, draw cartoons and write books for children and grown ups.