Daughter Clings to Green Frog That Plays Her Father’s Final Voicemail After Wildfire Killed Him and Her Brother

Hajime White, 51, keeps one small, tangible reminder of her father: a green stuffed frog that plays the last voicemail he left her before a wildfire consumed their home and took his life along with that of her younger brother.

The voicemail is the final recording from her father, Anthony Mitchell, and when the toy plays she can hear him say, "Merry Christmas and I love you." White says the frog—given to her by her daughters at Christmas—is the only thing she has that holds his voice.

Courtesy of Hajime WhiteAnthony and Justin Mitchell

The Calls and the Fire

Mitchell, a 68-year-old amputee, and Justin Mitchell, 35, who had cerebral palsy, died last year after the Eaton fire swept through their Altadena, California, home. White says she was logging on to her work computer in Arkansas when her father phoned to say he needed to evacuate but that leaving would be difficult because both he and Justin used wheelchairs. By the time the call ended, flames were already in the yard.

White waited for her father to call back. He never did. Shortly afterward, her brother Jordan—who had been hospitalized when the fires began—told her the devastating news: "Dad and Justin didn’t make it out." Replaying her father’s 911 call and his final voicemail, she says, is like "reliving a nightmare."

Courtesy of Hajime White (2)Hajime White; her two special stuffed animals that honor her late family members

"He’s not here, but he’s here. He’s telling me again, 'Merry Christmas and I love you.'"

Remembering Through Keepsakes

White has built a small shrine in her Warren, Arkansas, home to keep her loved ones close. She keeps a bottle of Crown Royal and a cigar for her father and a bag of chips for her brother. She often wears green—the color of her father’s eyes—and keeps other comforting items nearby, including a green stuffed dragon that reminds her of Justin.

She describes ongoing trauma: some days are manageable, others overwhelming. "My husband says I jump in my sleep. My daughters keep more of an eye on me now," she says. "When I’m home alone I get scared, I get frightened, I cry, I’ll scream." The recordings and keepsakes help her cope but also reopen painful memories of the last moments her family faced.

Community Support and Fundraising

A GoFundMe campaign has been launched to help White and her family, and a separate fundraiser supports Jordan as he rebuilds his life after losing his immediate family and their home. In an update around the one-year anniversary, Jordan wrote that although waking up in the hospital to learn of the deaths was devastating, community support became a lifeline. He thanked friends and donors—calling them like "real-life Avengers"—for their generosity and said their help meant everything during the hardest year of his life.

White continues to rely on memory, family and community as she navigates grief. The small frog that carries her father’s voice remains, for now, the clearest thread to the man she loved.