…
For a year or so after he died, I used to call his phone as it would go straight to voicemail and I’d get to hear his voice. Eventually the line was cut though. I wish I’d recorded it, just to have something.
…
I used to do this too.
My dad died very suddenly and with no warning whatsoever in 2012. Perusing perhaps his favourite pastime, he walked up one last mountain, but his body came back in a helicopter.
His mobile phone was never found. Given our relationships with our phones, it’s easy to imagine it as a piece of him still up there. It may have broken at the time of the accident or may have failed some time later – first when its battery expired; later when it was destroyed by the elements – but it was still the last place it reached out to a cellular tower: made that connection that defines its purpose.
His voicemail, of course, didn’t live on his phone. That it does it an illusion for the convenience of humans, especially those of us who are old enough to remember having to replace the Dictaphone-style microcassette tapes in physical answering machines (remember those?). But the illusion of him living on in that, too, persisted. A few times in the months that followed, I called his mobile number – one of very few etched permanently in my memory – just to hear his voice. Sometimes I’d leave a short message; a message that nobody would hear. It was a strange time.
Later, I learned that my dad’s partner had done the same. She regretted deleting her final received voicemail from him, and calling to hear the outbound message was perhaps the next-closest thing.
Years later, in 2017, I wrote about the experience of calling my dad’s mobile after his death. I’d been reminded of the ritual when listening to a new album – Robert Plant’s Carry Fire – and thinking “gosh, my dad would have loved this; what a shame that he didn’t live long enough to hear it.”
In my experience, that’s the journey you take when you lose a close family member. For a while, you miss them because of what they shared with you: love, care, upbringing, support, company… you regret that they’re not there any longer and you wish you could have them back. But as time goes on, there’s a transition, and the moments that you miss them are about the things that they didn’t live to see. It saddens me that my dad never got to meet our children (our eldest was born between one and two years after his death), for example (and not just because it would have spared me playing a game of re-enacting his demise with one of them!).
Of course, like any grief, it fades and gets easier with time, even if it never goes away.
Anyway: as always, thanks for sharing, Kev.
Edit: I should probably have cross-linked this blog post about remembering him in 2023, too…
Part The Widget
Sorry I wasn’t able to offer you any support after your last post and during your bereavement. I’m disappointed in others for not helping, of course, but I’m more disappointed in myself. I hope you got the emotional assistance you needed.
Genuinely really sorry. Could post excuses, but I’m sure they’re not very good ones, so shan’t bother.
Part The Brother
In the cases where my relationships haven’t just “fizzled out,” I’ve more often been the dumpee than the dumper – in fact, I’ve only been on the “giving” end of a break-up once. In my experience at least, it’s harder to be the initiator of a break-up than to be dumped, although that’s possibly more to do with the circumstances than anything else (in the case where I was the dumper, I cared more about my partner than at any time that I was the dumpee).
In any case; at that time, I – like your brother’s ex- – lied. Not so well as she did: I explained that I was leaving her for somebody else (Claire), but I didn’t at that point expose that I’d been cheating on her. Why? Because I’d already upset her (and me) and I didn’t want to upset her further or risk sounding like I was gloating (“hey, and look what I got away with!”). Instead, I planned to talk to her about that later (which went a bit shitty for other reasons, but that’s beside the scope of the story).
The bottom line is that, in my opinion, your brother’s ex- was unethical, but I can possibly see why she chose to do it the way that she did. I’d hope that in her position I’d do better (in fact, I’m pretty sure I would – I’ve learned a lot about relationships in the last five-and-a-half years). Moreover – in my mind – it’s not her fault that he got drunk and beaten up; that’s a detail that (while sad and upsetting) doesn’t actually change the moral validity (or, rather, invalidity) of her actions.
Still, I do feel sorry for your brother. I hope he’s getting by.
Part The Ways
Perhaps you’re right about relationships and etiquette, but it’s hard to say for certain. Every relationship is unique, and – even during the break-up – what is right for one is not necessarily right for another. It’s impossible to lay down a rule that says “when you break up with somebody, tell them exactly why and how long you’ve felt that way” because in the end there are relationships that will end better (cleaner break, happier parties, better ethics) if they are done in a different way (drift apart, white lie, outright lie, whatever). Unfortunately, at the point of the break-up the dumping party may well not care so much as they might once have what’s best for *both* parties, and may well be thinking more selfishly (“how do *I* want to feel out of this break up?”). And sadly, unethical as this may be, it’s their right to feel however they want, and it’s hard to tell them that they can’t…
…it’s a big emotional minefield.
I’d like to think that if Claire and I were to split up, we’d make a good job of it. We’ve laid the groundwork, and talked about it, and we’re pretty good at talking about the status of our relationship with one another anyway. Moreover, we’ve got a healthy grip on the frequently-transitory nature of romantic relationships, and – while it sounds a little pessimistic – we find it’s a great way of keeping things in perspective. Of course, it’s impossible to say. Time – perhaps – will tell.
Ultimately, I’d just like to see people communicate better with their partners: feeling capable to talk about how they feel and able to be honest about what they think. It *should* be okay to say “I love somebody else more than you. How do you feel about that?” It *should* be okay to say “I’m only with you for the sex. But the sex is good.” It *should* be okay to say “I’d like to spend more time alone, but I’m not ready to commit to breaking up.” And it should be okay to say “No, that doesn’t work for me. Can we find a compromise? Or shall we call it a day?”
[sighs]
I’ll fix the world some other day. Far too much going on right now. If you want to debate any of this, drop me an e-mail or call me (haven’t heard your voice in too long anyway).
Love and hugs.