Technology has certainly made it easier to keep things. I am realizing through this article and everyone’s comments just how truly precious voicemail has become. It makes me think different about how I will leave messages for others going forward as well. And I am certainly going to find an extra way to back things up.
This is so accurate. When I was cleaning out for a move, I found our old answering machine. On it were 2 special messages: 1 from my late Dad saying he was off to play poker and he loved me. The other was from my late brother who said he was just ‘checking in on me.’ I played them and now have as voice memos on my phone to play on a down day. Such a treasure. This essay really hits home Leslie. 💕
Wow! What a gift to have found that. I am sure every voicemail you have received since then goes through a different filter. Delete is no longer an arbitrary thought.
You’re right, Leslie—nothing in the world compares to hearing the voices of the people we love. I actually have 32 voicemails saved on my phone, mostly from my mom, but some are from both my mom and dad leaving messages together. Some are funny, some are sad, but all of them are deeply meaningful to me.
That’s such a gift. When I counted the notes from Dave, I found myself unexpectedly grateful to Apple for carrying them from phone to phone all these years.
Reading everyone’s comments today, I’m struck by how many of us save these words.
There’s something deeply human about wanting to hold on to the people we love, not just through the big moments, but through the ordinary words they left behind. I’ve loved reading everyone’s responses.
This is so beautiful. I love that you save voicemails like this. I need to do that with my kids’ voice memos. Grief is so complex and there are so many shades of gray. Thank you for sharing your experience.
I uncovered a box of DVDs and bought a DVD player to watch them. I hadn’t heard my mother’s voice in a decade. It was amazing to hear her. I’m so glad we have them. They are precious to me. This is reminding me to digitize them.
Everyone’s comments have me thinking about how hospitals and caregivers should collect “I love yous.”
It never occurred to me to keep Dave’s voice saying those words until it was too late with George. In a world where we document everything, it’s remarkable how often we miss the things that matter most.
So many families leave hospitals carrying photographs, paperwork, and memories. Very few leave with the sound of a voice. Yet for those who no longer have it, that may be the thing they would treasure most.
I imagine the gift it is not only for you but for your kids to be able to watch those videos of your mom.
I just proposed it to the Chief of Philanthropy at a large hospital system. She’s going to look into how they can make it happen. Amazing what can transpire from an article.
This is so beautiful, Leslie. The part that stuck with me is that we become so accustomed to hearing them, receiving them and we assume we will have them when we need them or simply when we want them.
You’ve given us a gift by sharing this. I am going to make sure I have the words captured because of this. Thank you.
Thank you! I have been so inspired by everyone’s comments today. I asked the Chief of Philanthropy at a large hospital system to look into how we can launch a campaign that allows caregivers to capture “I Love Yous” in those precious moments. No one should miss those words. Not in this day and age. She’s already working on it.
It's been four long years since my dad passed away, and I'm incredibly grateful that I asked my brother a hard question one day when he was visiting my dad in the hospital. I asked him if he could ask my dad to leave me a voice message saying “I love you Matt.” It was a very difficult thing for me to ask my brother, as it felt like I was losing hope and faith that my dad would eventually recover and leave the hospital. I cherish that voice message so much.
I didn't have any voicemails for my grandparents who've already passed, but I know their voices, so I hear them occasionally. I also find their handwriting in documents buried in the home.
Inheritance is the perfect word for this because we now carry their words.
Have you thought about what inheritance your kids will have from you?
I don't have a family right now, but I do keep my writing on how I've thought about health, spirituality, religion, business, etc in personal anthologies that are printed out. Treating that as the inheritance so my future kids can read how it was like for me at age X thinking about similar problems they're going through at that moment.
The way I think about is that when I was growing up (and even now), I wish I could read about the journey of people who are 10 steps ahead of me when they were younger.
Kinda like learning how Kobe Bryant thought about training, focus, discipline in his 20s as he's putting in the reps, rather than just looking at his peak and trying to guess how he thought about it.
I'm treating writing as a guide of "heres's what was going through my mind at the time" so that whoever is reading it knows they aren't alone in not having it all figured out.
I need to start to consider how to organize my writing. Not the content but the catalog of essays. In a way that feels more thoughtful as a collection. Thank you for inspiring this idea.
Leslie, the detail that stayed with me was not the absence of the words "I love you," but the voicemail itself: "Hello... hello?" There is something profoundly moving about the fact that the one message you have is an attempt to connect. In many ways, that seems to capture the heart of every relationship we treasure. We reach for one another across time, distance, misunderstanding, and circumstance, hoping our words will land. I was also struck by your observation that love can become background noise precisely because it is so constant. Thank you for this powerful reminder that what feels ordinary today may one day become priceless, and that some of the most important inheritances are never listed in a will.
Leslie- this is truly so beautifully written. As an Elder Care Attorney, as we begin planning for end of life… I do pay attention to these types of sentiments, I really do. But something like this… phone messages… have not been part of my regular and routine advice. Videos have been for sure, but now? Because of you and because of your late husband, who I had the privilege to meet in this lifetime, I will be sure to advise and strongly suggest that phone messages of “Hey babe…” and “I love you” are routinely mentioned by me. Thank you for making me better. Your story here today made me cry. So beautiful. Thank you, Carol
I would love to have a voice recording of my late sister. She died 38 years ago, so no cell phones/voicemail. I can sometimes “hear” her in my head at random times, but I only have pictures to look at. I, too, have been saving messages from my children or my Mom and my husband. I am really mad that I accidentally deleted the last voicemail my best friend left me before she died in 2015. I would love to hear Jennifer saying. “Hey, doll, I’m coming over with a bottle of wine to watch “Sex in the City”… or something random she was thinking about and needed to tell me!! Wishing you safe travels! All the best!!
Carol, wow… you met George. I love knowing that. ❤️
Thank you for sharing this. The thought that his story might encourage families to save the everyday words and voices of the people they love feels like such a beautiful full-circle moment. I’ve been so touched by everyone’s comments today, and especially by yours.
❤️ This got me. It’s such a powerful reminder that the things we treasure most afterwards are often the things that felt entirely ordinary at the time. The voice. The greeting. The casual “I love you”. Thank you for sharing this. X
This stayed with me long after I finished reading. I have been meaning to write to you but was trying to figure the best way to put across what I was feeling in my heart.
As someone who has faced loss, what struck me wasn’t the inheritance of money, possessions, or even memories. It was the inheritance of a voice. The ordinary words we hear so often that we assume they’ll always be there.
Reading this made me think about the people I love and how many things we take for granted until life reminds us they’re finite. A voice note. A laugh. A casual “I’m home.” An “I love you” said without ceremony.
I lost so much during my cancer journey, but one thing it taught me is that the ordinary moments become extraordinary in hindsight.
Thank you for writing something that feels both heartbreaking and deeply important. I suspect a lot of people will save a voice message today because of this piece. 🤍
Technology has certainly made it easier to keep things. I am realizing through this article and everyone’s comments just how truly precious voicemail has become. It makes me think different about how I will leave messages for others going forward as well. And I am certainly going to find an extra way to back things up.
This is so accurate. When I was cleaning out for a move, I found our old answering machine. On it were 2 special messages: 1 from my late Dad saying he was off to play poker and he loved me. The other was from my late brother who said he was just ‘checking in on me.’ I played them and now have as voice memos on my phone to play on a down day. Such a treasure. This essay really hits home Leslie. 💕
Wow! What a gift to have found that. I am sure every voicemail you have received since then goes through a different filter. Delete is no longer an arbitrary thought.
You’re right, Leslie—nothing in the world compares to hearing the voices of the people we love. I actually have 32 voicemails saved on my phone, mostly from my mom, but some are from both my mom and dad leaving messages together. Some are funny, some are sad, but all of them are deeply meaningful to me.
That’s such a gift. When I counted the notes from Dave, I found myself unexpectedly grateful to Apple for carrying them from phone to phone all these years.
Reading everyone’s comments today, I’m struck by how many of us save these words.
There’s something deeply human about wanting to hold on to the people we love, not just through the big moments, but through the ordinary words they left behind. I’ve loved reading everyone’s responses.
And I have none because I was over zealous about keeping my voicemail box “clean” and it’s one of my biggest regrets.
Now you can fill it with those who are here and you love deeply. Your voicemail box will look appropriately Messy soon. 😉❤️
This is so beautiful. I love that you save voicemails like this. I need to do that with my kids’ voice memos. Grief is so complex and there are so many shades of gray. Thank you for sharing your experience.
I uncovered a box of DVDs and bought a DVD player to watch them. I hadn’t heard my mother’s voice in a decade. It was amazing to hear her. I’m so glad we have them. They are precious to me. This is reminding me to digitize them.
Everyone’s comments have me thinking about how hospitals and caregivers should collect “I love yous.”
It never occurred to me to keep Dave’s voice saying those words until it was too late with George. In a world where we document everything, it’s remarkable how often we miss the things that matter most.
So many families leave hospitals carrying photographs, paperwork, and memories. Very few leave with the sound of a voice. Yet for those who no longer have it, that may be the thing they would treasure most.
I imagine the gift it is not only for you but for your kids to be able to watch those videos of your mom.
I love that idea.
I just proposed it to the Chief of Philanthropy at a large hospital system. She’s going to look into how they can make it happen. Amazing what can transpire from an article.
This is so beautiful, Leslie. The part that stuck with me is that we become so accustomed to hearing them, receiving them and we assume we will have them when we need them or simply when we want them.
You’ve given us a gift by sharing this. I am going to make sure I have the words captured because of this. Thank you.
Thank you! I have been so inspired by everyone’s comments today. I asked the Chief of Philanthropy at a large hospital system to look into how we can launch a campaign that allows caregivers to capture “I Love Yous” in those precious moments. No one should miss those words. Not in this day and age. She’s already working on it.
Amazing!!!!🤩 Keep me posted. Would love to know how it goes and happy to lend a hand in the world of hospitals/healthcare if you need it. 💜
It's been four long years since my dad passed away, and I'm incredibly grateful that I asked my brother a hard question one day when he was visiting my dad in the hospital. I asked him if he could ask my dad to leave me a voice message saying “I love you Matt.” It was a very difficult thing for me to ask my brother, as it felt like I was losing hope and faith that my dad would eventually recover and leave the hospital. I cherish that voice message so much.
That’s the one I wish I had. What a blessing to have that. That’s what every caregiver should tell families during those moments.
I didn't have any voicemails for my grandparents who've already passed, but I know their voices, so I hear them occasionally. I also find their handwriting in documents buried in the home.
Inheritance is the perfect word for this because we now carry their words.
Have you thought about what inheritance your kids will have from you?
I don't have a family right now, but I do keep my writing on how I've thought about health, spirituality, religion, business, etc in personal anthologies that are printed out. Treating that as the inheritance so my future kids can read how it was like for me at age X thinking about similar problems they're going through at that moment.
That’s a beautiful way to think about your writing. I need to sit with this idea. You’re right. There is legacy in it I hadn’t considered before.
The way I think about is that when I was growing up (and even now), I wish I could read about the journey of people who are 10 steps ahead of me when they were younger.
Kinda like learning how Kobe Bryant thought about training, focus, discipline in his 20s as he's putting in the reps, rather than just looking at his peak and trying to guess how he thought about it.
I'm treating writing as a guide of "heres's what was going through my mind at the time" so that whoever is reading it knows they aren't alone in not having it all figured out.
I need to start to consider how to organize my writing. Not the content but the catalog of essays. In a way that feels more thoughtful as a collection. Thank you for inspiring this idea.
Reach out if you want to discuss more!
I take my writing and print out physical books that I can keep so it's not just digital stuff.
Feels so much better holding your writing rather than just storing it online.
Leslie, the detail that stayed with me was not the absence of the words "I love you," but the voicemail itself: "Hello... hello?" There is something profoundly moving about the fact that the one message you have is an attempt to connect. In many ways, that seems to capture the heart of every relationship we treasure. We reach for one another across time, distance, misunderstanding, and circumstance, hoping our words will land. I was also struck by your observation that love can become background noise precisely because it is so constant. Thank you for this powerful reminder that what feels ordinary today may one day become priceless, and that some of the most important inheritances are never listed in a will.
Thank you 🙏
Leslie- this is truly so beautifully written. As an Elder Care Attorney, as we begin planning for end of life… I do pay attention to these types of sentiments, I really do. But something like this… phone messages… have not been part of my regular and routine advice. Videos have been for sure, but now? Because of you and because of your late husband, who I had the privilege to meet in this lifetime, I will be sure to advise and strongly suggest that phone messages of “Hey babe…” and “I love you” are routinely mentioned by me. Thank you for making me better. Your story here today made me cry. So beautiful. Thank you, Carol
(Carol MB Conlan, Esq.)
Thank you for sharing this, Leslie. An important message.
I am working on capturing words ❤️
Hi mommy I love you so much love you bye. All in one breath. I can't get past that line.
I listen to that one often. It’s so precious. The young childish voice… it’s priceless.
I would love to have a voice recording of my late sister. She died 38 years ago, so no cell phones/voicemail. I can sometimes “hear” her in my head at random times, but I only have pictures to look at. I, too, have been saving messages from my children or my Mom and my husband. I am really mad that I accidentally deleted the last voicemail my best friend left me before she died in 2015. I would love to hear Jennifer saying. “Hey, doll, I’m coming over with a bottle of wine to watch “Sex in the City”… or something random she was thinking about and needed to tell me!! Wishing you safe travels! All the best!!
Carol, wow… you met George. I love knowing that. ❤️
Thank you for sharing this. The thought that his story might encourage families to save the everyday words and voices of the people they love feels like such a beautiful full-circle moment. I’ve been so touched by everyone’s comments today, and especially by yours.
❤️ This got me. It’s such a powerful reminder that the things we treasure most afterwards are often the things that felt entirely ordinary at the time. The voice. The greeting. The casual “I love you”. Thank you for sharing this. X
This stayed with me long after I finished reading. I have been meaning to write to you but was trying to figure the best way to put across what I was feeling in my heart.
As someone who has faced loss, what struck me wasn’t the inheritance of money, possessions, or even memories. It was the inheritance of a voice. The ordinary words we hear so often that we assume they’ll always be there.
Reading this made me think about the people I love and how many things we take for granted until life reminds us they’re finite. A voice note. A laugh. A casual “I’m home.” An “I love you” said without ceremony.
I lost so much during my cancer journey, but one thing it taught me is that the ordinary moments become extraordinary in hindsight.
Thank you for writing something that feels both heartbreaking and deeply important. I suspect a lot of people will save a voice message today because of this piece. 🤍