I asked her eventually, gently, if she’d like to send messages back. Anything – the television, the kettle boiling, the sound of Erika coming in through the door. I heard her cough lingering through the cold winter, the doors closing, windows creaking open, footsteps approaching and then receding as she searched for something she couldn’t recover, couldn’t name. Eventually her records stopped; perhaps she’d listened, and been confused and upset by what she’d heard. I didn’t say anything, but continued sending my own unfiltered audio, the background hum of my own life, my own form of
...more
This is cool. Listening to the sounds of your family’s life as a way to connect, to communicate.
