Voice mail archaeology

This morning one of my old voice mail messages came to the head of the line, to be re-saved or deleted. My provider is inexpensive and my storage capacity is vast, so with all of the messages about tasks and decisions and deadlines, there are dozens of personal messages I've saved for years if they touched me or entertained me or if I just haven't brought myself to hit the delete key on a voice I've loved.

This voice is one I didn't realize was even there, of a friend recently lost. I didn't remember he'd ever called that number. It's just a hello call, and in the easy way of close friends it assumes that we'll be catching up to each other later in the day. There's a lilt in the voice that tells me all is well and there are smiles to look forward to in our later conversation.

In real life there won't be any more conversations and that pain is fresh, so the tears slip down my cheeks quietly. But in truth I hear the smile of that moment more than I hear the loss to come, and I save that smile to hear again sometime. That moment can't be fully undone by what came after.

My voice mailbox has been my companion since 1997 when my longtime relationship busted up, I was without a place to live and needed a phone number when I didn't own a phone. For a time, those few circuits were what I used to create my sense of place in the world...or at least the illusion of it.

There are a number of my life's voices that exist only in that mailbox now. Lots of messages from another man who loved me for a time, and I can hear it without my old pain and cynicism. There are my niece and nephew in voices years-younger, singing me a Happy Birthday. I love who they have become and who they are becoming, but I still love hearing who they were.

This morning a second message was also up for renewal. I think to myself, I've been saving this message every 45 days for four years now, you'd think this system would have learned that. But since it comes today on the heels of the dear voice I've lost, I listen to this one again all the way through because it is such a comfort. It's my friend Michele's gentle voice raised in prayer for me on the day years ago when I told her that the second try with my life's love had failed for good. She recites one of her favorites "Mother's Evening Prayer," and she changes the words of one line to say "Keep thou my Peg on upward wing tonight."

As I ripped off the pages on my daily calendar at work today, there was a Mary Engelbreit illustration called "Don't Look Back." It shows a crossroads, one path marked "Your Life" and the other path marked "No Longer An Option." Sure enough there's wisdom in it as a reminder not to live only in losses or in regrets for what can't be changed, but there are so many things worth looking back on. Every time I remember that someone prayed to keep me on upward wing, I feel the slight lift of air beneath me if I'm willing to make use of it. And I'll feel that again 45 days from now.