As a kid my dad would always tell me that we could communicate between two tin cans and a string. So we did, it actually worked. This became our tradition. Every month one of us would put a tin can phone somewhere in the house and wait for the other to find it. Him and I would just tell jokes and crack up. 

 A few months ago my dad passed away. He collapsed in our living room, clenching his chest. My mom took him to the hospital. But by the time they got there he was half way gone. Mom told us his last words were to the doctor. “Save me, Bring me back to my family.”  It was too late, they couldn’t save him.  

 I keep the tin phone in my room on my wall. One of the cans is to the ceiling while the other is almost touching the floor. It’s one of the only things that makes me smile when I think about him. Tomorrow will be the anniversary of the day he died. 

  The next day I found myself on the floor of my room crying. He’s gone. I couldn’t breathe. I will never get to see him again. Never get to hear his laugh again. I will never hear his stupid jokes again. It’s not fair.

 I found myself holding the end of the tin phone. I was begging him to say something. Screaming into a can that I knew wasn’t gonna talk back. “I love you.” I went silent. Was that my imagination? I love you, I heard my dads voice speak out through the tin can. Then nothing, he was gone. 

 Gently smiling I took a deep breath as a few soft tears fell from my eyes. “I love you dad..” I whisper. Standing up I walk away, Knowing he's safe, he’s ok. Thank you tin can for giving me peace.