Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • My Father, Jeff Curtis died eleven years ago yesterday in Mountainside New Jersey.

    During Thanksgiving of 2010, I visited my Nana Curtis at her nursing home. I brought my recorder with me and asked her to say something into the microphone. We used to talk on the phone a lot which helped since I live in San Francisco and she lives in New Jersey. But, a couple of years ago, she decided she didn't want to use the telephone anymore, not just with me but with anyone. As I held the microphone to her mouth, I told her I just wanted her to say what ever was on her mind, so I could play it when I missed her. She stared out the window and fixated on the trees. I didn't know if she was going to say anything. And then she said this.
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.