Beats Headphones, iPads, and Scars
By: Aysha Wax
Tags: Headphones, Rollerblading, iPad, Dad, Grief

A week ago, after a super hot shower, I spied a scar on my shin, that hasn’t surfaced since I got it two years ago. I thought it was funny because it felt like a manifestation of my grief that resurfaced just in time for the fourth anniversary of my dad’s passing. I got the scar while rollerblading on my dad’s birthday in 2019.

My dad started taking me rollerblading on the Santa Monica bike path when I was four years old. It was the one place where we never fought and with the blue sky, and beach right next to us it was the one place I felt truly free. In 2019 I wanted to recreate that feeling. Memorials and dates are weird. It feels terrible and like any other day. So, I wanted to do something for his birthday and I went to the bike path alone. It wasn’t the same. And just to rub it in I ended up falling. It reminded me of a time when I was 13 and fell scraping up my whole thigh. I was with my dad and we were two miles from the car and I just had to walk back bleeding. My dad helped me back and was super proud that I powered through. But when I fell in 2019 there was no one there. Just me. Hearing my dad’s voice in my ears urging me on.

It has been four years since my dad passed away and it feels like forever and an instant. The pain is less now. But just when you think you are doing better some things come to remind you that you will never quite be OK again.

The most telling reminder is all the physical things my dad left behind. My dad was a connoisseur. An Aesthete. He had the best stuff. So, I inherited a bunch of wonderful things when I lost my one and only dad. But the problem with things is they don’t last forever and they have conditions.

My dad left me his Beats Wireless Noise-canceling headphones. I use them every day to watch TV, go for walk, and especially on a plane. Until three weeks ago. They abruptly stopped working. I looked up hacks online. I bought a new battery. Nothing has worked. These headphones were top of the line in 2014, but in 2021 they may just be dying. It’s hard to accept. I know that the Shinto religion believes in spirits inhabiting animate and inanimate objects. These headphones have my dad’s spirit. How do I let them go without letting go of him?

Another dizzying annoyance has been my dad’s iPad. My dad loved it and always took it to the hospital for his chemo treatments. It’s a giant iPad. He even had it refurbished when a nurse accidentally sat on it. So, the bad news is when my dad passed away I did not have his Apple ID password. Big mistake. The iPad is exactly as my dad left it. I cant’ change it. But I know he would have wanted me to use it and enjoy one of his most prized possessions.

This is where the whole saga takes a turn because around the time my dad passed Apple started becoming more stringent about their privacy concerns. I called up Apple Support and explained that I did not have my dad’s apple password and sorry, my dad was dead, so I would not be getting it.

The first man I talked to said, “Look, you are going to give up on this at some point. This problem is not going to get solved.”

I was offended. Excuse me. I am not going to give up. I am a try hard and I like to accomplish my goals. But… he was right. I soon got swept up in my grief and forgot about the iPad. For a while. But once every year I remember and try the whole process again. I call up Apple. They are shocked I don’t have his password. I offer a death certificate. And then we hit an impasse.

This year, though when I asked, they had a new response. I would have to go to a judge and have them proclaim that I wasn’t lying and that the iPad was my dad’s property and that I could reset it. I would have to go to court for an iPad.

But I’m not going to do that. I’m going to strive to take care of myself and keep going even as these physical manifestations of my dad start to break down. I know part of letting go of my dad is letting go of his things. I know that they aren’t really him. I know that his love is inside my bones and on my skin, like that scar that sometimes reappears. I know all of this, but still, I have not been able to give up on this dumb iPad.

There is a little bit of a happy ending on this anniversary. Two days ago, my fiance, was able to fix the Beats headphones. I cried. I was so excited. Over a pair of headphones. Like zooming out it feels crazy to have this much emotion over headphones, but that’s where I am. I also went rollerblading again at the beach. It still felt empty, but there was also gratitude. I’m glad I’m still here. That I still get to write my story and remember my dad. Also this time I didn’t fall.