remembering the good times

I Still Need to Hear That Voice

Every time I call my husband and he doesn’t pick up, I’m taken back to a good place. A better time.

Because when he doesn’t pick up, his voice mail does.

Just a simple, to-the-point greeting, recorded many years ago. Many tears ago.

The sound of his assured voice, before he was broken by PTSD, now breaks me inside. I can still hear his smile in that voice. And I still grieve for that man.

I hope he never changes the recording.

I still need to hear that voice.

 

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remembering the good times

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