The Voicemail

Late night

Early morning

Eyes open halfway to the morning light

Squinting, I turn over

Hearing high pitched familiar voices from the other room

My children needing me as always

But today I want extended sleep

To close my heavy lids and

Drift off

Again

Instead, I rise slowly

And stretch.

Following my children bounding down the stairs

My lead feet lead to the kitchen to retrieve my black screen, sleeping phone

I wake it gently, scrolling past images of last night

Fun

But then my world crashes with the look of one icon

A simple text, reveals something deeper.

Then voicemail.

Sister’s voice trembling, stuttering to get the words out…

Dad.

Dead.

Autopsy.

Phone drops.

Body drops.

Shutter the thought.

Where did you go?

And now I wish I had stayed in bed forever.