I would fuck a lot of my life up to have just one more phone call

The past couple of years were tough. Her health was declining and anyone who knew her could tell she wasn’t truly herself. The last few visits were so hard, because it both was and wasn’t her. Grief for what was lost, what was happening in real time, as well as terror for what would inevitably come

She was the first family member I told I was gay. She only loved me more. She adored my wife. When my brother came out as trans, she admitted she didn’t understand, but loved him and corrected others when they used the wrong pronouns whenever she could remember

I am still learning new things about her and her life. She liked fast cars. She managed businesses. She had depression. She survived open heart surgery when it was experimental and she had only a few years to live. She asked for an industrial dump truck for Christmas and my grandpa made it happen

It’s cheesy, but not only do I feel in my bones that that woman believed in me more than any other member of my family, but she lived in awe of me and loved each individual hair on my head. Absolutely profound.

I have two previously incidental voicemail from her still saved on my phone. Who knew a simple question about mailing addresses while standing at the post office counter could be so devastating and so sacred