I probably don’t deserve him for many amazing things he has done for me. But there is one thing in particular that stands out from the rest and for which I can sincerely never repay him.
He intentionally and (secretly!) crafted tangible memories of my father for me that I will never have another opportunity to make and he shared them with me in the deepest, darkest moments of my grief when I needed them the most.
My husband found me one day, not long after the funeral, in our spare bedroom. During the previous 2 months this room had become “dad’s room”. We had moved him in with us to care for him after his terminal diagnosis and, with the help of hospice, this room was complete with a hospital bed and commode.
I was sitting on the floor surrounded by the remaining funeral programs, a few of his belongings, and pictures, sobbing and wrenching in pain.
“Come here, babe.” He motioned. After helping me up, he brought me into the living room and attempted to reason with me. “I have something for you and I think it might help you. But, it might not. And I just need you to promise not to get upset at me.”
I couldn’t imagine what he could possibly have that would upset me and he could tell by the look on my face that I didn’t understand. He went on to explain, “Some people said I shouldn’t do this. They said it wasn’t a good idea and that it might upset you more.” He pulled out his phone, navigated to voice memos, and hit play.
There it was. My dad’s voice.
But my husband had the wherewithal to recognize these moments as precious while in the moment. And he recorded a few of them. Discreetly. With just audio. And saved them.
Saved them for… whenever they may be needed or wanted. What you would also have to understand about my husband to fully grasp the magnitude of such a gesture, is that he had never experienced a loss like this and had no way of knowing what this would mean to me.
We were just newlyweds, only having been married for 4 months at the time of my father’s passing. And yet my husband would pick me up off of the floor several more times over the many weeks and months during the height of my grief. Sometimes just to hold me. And sometimes he would share a new, priceless recording with me.
He was strategic about it. So as to make them last. He would share them during the times of deepest despair or at the milestones and the “firsts”. The one month anniversary of his death. The first Father’s Day without my dad.
You may be wondering what the recordings contained and how he was able to capture specific ones. But that’s just it. It’s not what the recordings are. It’s who they are. They’re snippets of insignificant, candid, and unscripted conversations that I had with my dad. The laughs, the deep breaths, the I love you’s, and the day-to-day.
They are now some of my most prized possessions. They are irreplaceable. And I can never repay my husband for them.
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This post was previously published on Hello, Love and is republished here with permission from the author.
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Photo credit: Canva