We buried you with your flip phone so that maybe you could figure out how to use your voicemail in heaven.
From what I can remember, we never really talked on the phone while you were alive. I’d call you every now and then to chat about the weather or something happening in my life. I called you a lot towards the end, although you could barely talk. I did most of the talking.
Our last conversation was only a minute long, but feels like hours now as I remember it. I told you about the soup broth I was making, and how it isn’t as strong as yours. You said I needed to give it more time. You were right, more time is all it needed. We talked about how the weather was nice for February. You complained about the window being open. I asked how you were feeling and you said “not too good, Amber.” I said, “Ok Poppie I’ll let you go, I’ll call you soon.” You said, “Ok,” I said “I love you,” you said “Love you.” You hung up and I went back to making my soup. I cried a little bit after that call.
You passed away a few days later.
Like the broth, I needed more time.
Your number is still in my contact list. I called you last night desperately hoping to leave you a voicemail. It rang once before a voice said “you have reached a non working number.” I don’t know what I expected Poppie.
I’m trying really hard to let the idea of you being here go, but I can’t yet. Seeing your name in my phone is comforting to me. I’ll never delete it.
{this is not my piece, its been taken from https://medium.com/@amberdiscko/i-ll-never-delete-your-number-ba1130d07c1a#.425qlsagm}