Saturday I lost my phone. Now I am a 25 year old woman with the problems of a 16 year old girl. But what doesn't come across in the sarcastic string of commentary I have regarding this situation is that phone held that last little piece of my dad I've been holding onto since his death. I could care less about those picture I never posted and the games I'll never be able to continue, but his voicemails are gone. For 6 years I have held onto those audio clips in secret, pressing play to hear the voice of my dad tell me "I love you" one more time. His last words since I never got to see him alive and in person after missing those calls. Its absolutely devastating. And yet I have accepted that I am just going to have to let go and start over quite frankly because I don't have another choice. In an odd way it reminds me of right after he died and I was left to go through his belongings alone and decide what was worth keeping. This is the moment I feel I lost my "compassion" because I was forced to dispose of so many things and memories that once filled the life of someone who meant the world to me. And here I am again in a similar position. Holding onto something that is just gone. I appreciate the hard times your voice got me through and from here on out I just have to look back at the memories and hope they don't continue to fade out like everything else.