Saved Voicemail and Dominoes

There some days I listen to my voicemail messages.  I have a voice mail saved from Timmy from two months before he was killed.  I sit and listen, save, listen, save again, listen again...some days afraid that if I don't listen to the voicemail, it will be gone.  I also have the message from Mayor Nutter calling me to express his condolences.  I can hear his voice cracking...it has the sound of fear - the fear that any decent father has for his children.  I have that saved, listened, saved again, listened again.  I don't know why I save it.  Its a painful memory, I save and listen to over and over.  I just sometimes need to hear Timmy's voice.  Sometimes to remind myself that he called to say good night and that he loved me. Sometimes I imagine that I am talking to him.

 

The night he called, I was working overtime, and I didn't pick up the phone when he called.  I have moments of guilt for not picking up the phone and talking to him.  Other times I am glad I didn't; I have his voicemail message to save.

I had taken his dog to the pound a few days before, maybe a week.  He didn't speak to me for about a week. The dog had bitten me during an argument Tim and I were having.  A stupid argument that should never had happened.  An argument that began and set in motion because of a stupid argument over a computer virus that some jerk-off somewhere in the world loaded up onto the web. I have days where I wish I could take back that day and start over.  I have days where I wish I never yelled at him.  It wasn't his fault.  It was all because some ass wanted to destroy someone’s computer out of spite; vandalize a hard drive and hijack freedom at its ultimate expression.

 

Its all part of the What If game.

I lost my son to a series of stupid moments. All the moments lined up like dominoes in my head...in my imagination.  One domino sets everything in motion - a cause and effect; a cascade effect of calamity.  One domino equaling one moment set in motion other moments. I play it out in my head sometimes.  I watch the science shows on quantum mechanics...time-space continuum, the foam, the bubble, worm holes, branching universe, decision trees.  My sorrow meshed with a disdain for Stephen Hawking and his ilk.

I write my memories down - not to show myself as "Father of the Year" - but to one day leave as a gift to his sisters.  I write my relationship with him.  I don't want any mantel or award - the pedestal is too high should I fall off.  I simply write of my love and life with Timmy.

Like it or not.  He was part of me, is part of me, and will forever be part of me.