A Year of Kaddish

After my mother’s funeral, after sitting shivah that week in August, I returned home to Connecticut. I remember the first morning back; Still on Pacific Time, I woke up, observing Eastern Daylight Savings Time, to make morning services by 7 o’clock. By mid-afternoon, I was exhausted and I decided to take a nap. But first I called my dad to check in and see how he was doing.

He wasn’t home when I called. Instead the voice mail kicked in.

“Hello. We can’t answer the phone. Please leave a message and we’ll call you back as soon as possible.” Nothing unusual about that.

Except the voice on the message was still my mom’s. It was at once unsettling and welcoming. I left a message and then fell asleep. In the middle of my nap, I heard the phone ring. I answered it. I started talking. It was my mom. Midway through the conversation, it dawned on me. Something’s not right here. Her voice grew faint. Then I realized I was dreaming. I woke up, shook my head and smiled.

But over the last four months, when I’ve called out to California and got the answering machine, I’ve gone from hanging up because it just felt too weird to looking forward to her message before saying, “Hi Dad. Just thought I’d call to see what’s up. Call me when you get a chance.”

Tonight, after returning from minyan, I called. My dad’s been doing all right, all things considered. He’s learning how to use the computer, send emails, and talk on Skype, all modern tasks he’d left to my mom before her passing. The phone rang tonight. It was 5 o’clock in the West. It rang enough that I knew I’d get the voice mail recording. When it came, I was surprised. The voice was my dad’s.

“Please leave a message.” He had figured out how to re-record the voice-mail greeting. I wondered: had someone told him he ought to change it? Had he decided on his own that four months was long enough to have his wife, of blessed memory, still answering the phone?

I’ll ask him when he calls back. I must admit, a part of me was disappointed that she’s no longer screening calls. But then, all things must pass, right?