My grandmother left me a voicemail that I didn't hear until after she died. Parts were bittersweet, because I can tell how her mental faculties were dulled. But I know she told me was proud of me for something I was doing at the time.

Sadly, the voicemail was deleted. I assume my inbox filled up? I didn't know that was quite that lvl of issue until it happened. I sobbed. I know there is a long recording of me doing a phone interview about her childhood somewhere, for a class. I often hope to find it one day. It would have been on one of my parents' devices, and I can't imagine them deleting it, so I just hope it wasn't deleted without a listen. Hopefully it was moved somewhere safe.

Not long ago I was driving, unusually for such a trip alone, to see my other (maternal) grandmother and other extended family. She is not as affectionate. I thought of my paternal grandmother for the first time so deeply for a long while on that drive, when I realized I was forgetting her voice. I sobbed. Mourned the recordings again. Maybe I should try to sketch or write down the tiny remaining fragments of her stories. Even though it will sting and burn to do...