Noise runs relentlessly through my head, and I ask myself: how many lives have I ever touched, what grand or minute marks will I leave on this earth?

A few days ago I heard what sounded like my father’s voice. He mumbled a single syllable straight into my ear, and it sounded like a “yeh” or an “eh,” but it echoed deep and long enough for me to register that it was him. I turned around quickly, thinking in silence, who snuck into my apartment? Of course, there was no one—not behind me in the kitchen and not anywhere in the apartment. His voice was so surely alive for less than a second, such a small time frame that will easily make one question one’s sanity. But, clearly that voice was neither invented nor a projection of grief. The elements of awe and fear would not exist if it had not actually happened. 

My father and I were different on the surface yet identical on deeper levels. We shared a common difficulty in showing emotion and easily becoming frustrated. Snappy remarks and petty pet peeves were the norm. Whether I learned to be like him or biologically inherited such characteristics, I’ll never know.  No matter how bumpy the road and how ever many roadblocks, his path and mine are naturally intertwined from start to finish. Hearing his voice was a reminder that the finish line is ambiguous as we will cross paths again.