I decided to go through my old voicemails this evening. I don’t tend to do this very often, so I had a lot of junk there.

The oldest messages were from my mother, back in 2018. Still hale and healthy, she was calling on a Saturday night, probably from the Cape, wondering when I was going to arrive. Then a few more, at various intervals, asking where I was, or if I was going to be home for supper. I miss hearing her normal voice — for the last couple of years of her life, she just didn’t sound like herself; most of the affect had left her voice.

The we get into the period when I was taking care of her. Calls from Home Instead, scheduling home health aide coverage. Calls from various therapists, either letting me know they were on the way, or letting me know about her condition. More calls from Home Instead, usually calling to let me know of coverage problems as she needed more help, and they struggled with pandemic coverage.

Then we move into a period of calls from Cornerstone — usually calls from the nurse or the director letting me know of problems that had cropped up. I have to hand it to them, they were good about keeping on top of their residents, and communicating issues. And finally, calls from the Ellis dietician and nurses.

That was a long period of my life, and I don’t miss it at all, and I deleted most of those messages.

In between, there was a call from my Aunt Diane, and a couple from my Uncle Tom, both wanting at various times to set up visits with my mother. Both are now gone, and I’ve kept those messages.

Strange how short little routine messages can become keepsakes of loved ones who aren’t here anymore.