We found Dad’s old cassette player tucked inside a lower kitchen cabinet. Gabriel carefully cleaned the tape heads with a cloth while I stood nearby, watching him silently.
He pressed play, the machine clicked, and soft static filled the quiet kitchen.
Gabriel stared down at the wooden table, giving me privacy while remaining exactly where I had asked him to stay.
Then my father’s voice returned from a place far beyond every unanswered question in my life.
“Happy eighteenth birthday, my sweet girl,” Dad’s voice rasped through the speaker. “I hope you are taller than me now, although your mother probably doubts that very much.”
Dad described the exact day of my birth, his overwhelming terror when he first held me in his arms, and his deepest hope that I would travel much farther in life than he ever had.
Then his gentle tone softened on the recording.
