We loved those of our own gender. We loved learning. We gave ourselves up to the worded silences, in study, in prayer. Rob himself became deeply religious during the years of his illness. There are no seances here, no rattling of tables or clapping of hands.
Loved voices echo.
The recorded voice, surviving death as photos do, enthralls her. Their voices are still up there, out there. The journey of a voice is the hope for connection. As a girl, she taped the voices of her family. Now she listens to Rob's voice on tape and summons its echo, not its sound but its spirit, to come to her.