I miss my grandmother’s voice, telling me about her orchids and stories about my father as a little boy. I can still hear her asking my mom for another piece of her favorite Food For The Gods before going to bed. And I loved her hands, which my two aunts and my daughter inherited from her. It is uncanny how Lola’s beautiful tapered fingers could be seen in following generations.
I miss my father’s voice over the phone. I remember my mother telling me that Daddy’s voice was something she treasured almost from the moment she met him. It was firm and gentle, and I always knew when he was smiling on the other end of the phone line – or frowning! His lengthy but detailed explanations used to drive me nuts, especially about pineapples or car engines, but I would love to hear that voice again.
My father-in-law had a beautiful baritone voice both in spoken and singing form. I didn’t always follow the dialect and had to concentrate when he forgot got switch to Standard German, but there was always the curiosity and concern interwoven in his words, coupled with a certain child-like wonder that was uplifting.
It was my mother-in-law’s birthday yesterday, and she would have been 86 if she were still alive. I miss the way she could chatter non-stop during long drives or while cooking. I never tired of her questions or stories, and treasured the times I had the privilege of watching her read or sing to my daughter, and pray.
Most of all, I miss Mommy’s voice. I can’t pinpoint a singular reason, I just do. Her cheerful greeting on the phone is something that I struggle to accept is no longer there. It was her voice that pulled me through the darkest moments of my life, and rejoiced during the milestones. It was her voice that whispered I love You when I closed my eyes or walked out the door.
If a voice could hold hands or embrace the sadness away, catch tears, and soothe my soul, Mommy’s could.
If a voice could hold me tight when my world was falling apart, hers could.
Where is it now?