After my mom passed, everything felt heavy. The house was quiet, my heart ached, and even simple
tasks felt impossible. A couple of weeks later, my phone died, leaving me cut off from everyone.
Too exhausted to replace it, I accepted my dad’s offer of my mom’s old phone.
“It still works,” he said softly. “Maybe this can help until you get a new one.”
I switched the SIM card and began using it. At first, it felt strange holding something that had belonged to her.
Then, two weeks later, a voicemail notification popped up. I assumed it was from work or a friend—but when I played it, it was her voice.
Warm, calm, and loving, she reminded me to take care of myself, to slow down, and to remember how much she loved me.
Tears streamed down my face as her words filled the room, a message seemingly waiting just for me at the perfect moment.
That voicemail became a treasure I can return to whenever I need comfort. In that moment, I realized that
sometimes the smallest things—a voice, a memory, a few kind words—can remind us that love never truly leaves.