Tonight, without any prompting from me, my mother gave me three full boxes of my Dad’s cassette tape recordings. Some are his original music, some are recordings from various Spanish stations, all of them are memory.
I’ve been given a treasure trove of my father’s memories.
I have access to a part of soul, I can guess what he felt, I can reach for his motivation and thinking — Why did he record this and not this other thing over here? He was interested in this? Wow, I didn’t know this!
This is a big deal for me, as my parents have had nothing to do with the Facebook era. No statii on various posts, no 140-character thoughts.
Dad ebbed into the silence, and now I’ve been given the memory of his voice. … I’m still processing this. But I know it’s a magnificent thing. Thank you, Mom.
Why did he record so much? Was he lonely?
– No, Mom, he was alive. And making memories for us.
But there’s so much.
– That’s because he had so much to say. This was his language, a part of his soul.
… On Why Recording Your Thoughts is so Important.