Hubby and I have been watching How I Met Your Mother for the last 6 weeks or so. In the five months that he was living in Greenville and I was living in Gulf Shores, he had seen some episode reruns and suggested that we watch the whole series together. It is one of those things that gives us something to do together every evening – whether we watch one episode or five – and allows us to have shared moments when we remember a show funny or something in real life mirrors a comedic moment from the show.
If you haven’t seen it, Ted is telling his kids the story of how he met their mother, and the story involves four of Ted’s friends. Marshall and Lily, Ted’s friends from college that are a couple, Barney, a womanizing executive, and Robin, the most recent addition to the group. Every week, Ted spins another tale about the adventures that would eventually lead to Ted and his future wife finding one another.
We are somewhere in Season 6 (of 9), and earlier this week, the show that we have chosen to watch to bring levity and laughter into our living room had one of those “serious” episodes. In it, Marshall loses his father suddenly to a heart attack.
And at three years and ten months since losing my dad in the same way, the episode brought me right back to that day and to the immense sadness of losing my dad.
I told Mike we had to watch one more episode because I couldn’t go to bed with that one on my mind, and the entire next episode was talking about the last words Marshall’s dad spoke to him, which ended with Mitchell finding a voicemail that his dad had accidentally left him the day that he died.
That was almost too much for me because I have one of those voicemail messages. It wasn’t left the day he died, but in the weeks just prior, Dad had called me to ask if one of us could come over and help him bring up the lawnmower from the basement. In the message he said all of our names, Mike, Anne, Ty and Chrisy.
And before I went to bed that night I listened to the message, more than once. I miss my dad’s voice. I miss his wisdom. I miss his hugs. But what a gift I have with this technology that allows me to keep this voicemail and listen to it whenever I need to hear his voice.
The thing is, grief isn’t something that ends. Yes, there comes a point when we get to acceptance, but there are still days when we miss our loved ones so much that it hurts. That has been me this week.
But I am grateful that even in the midst of sadness, I can have joy in listening to his voice, and hearing him say my name, all because of a saved voicemail.