We recently got rid of our home phone (welcome to 2006! a friend told us) to solely use our cell phones. This means we got rid of our home phones. I was ready to unplug this last connection to somewhat archaic technology when my husband asked, “Do you need to pull anything off of it?”
“Of what?” I asked.
“The answering machine,” he answered.
I thought for a long moment and then realized what he was gently reminding me of.
I have two messages from my mother on my answering machine.
I had forgotten, you see, that I had those. I haven’t listened to them, but I certainly don’t want to lose them. I have one saved on my voicemail, but two–precious two!–on the answering machine.
As always, she began with, “It’s just mom.”
I almost started crying because I would have lost those two precious messages had it not been for the reminder from my husband. And they would have been gone forever.
I am forgetting what she looked like, what she smelled like. Things are getting hazy in my memory. But I have her voice. And I will now have it forever, as long as technology doesn’t fail me.
The Postmodern Bluestocking 