I speak with my Mother's voice
For anyone who doesn't know, my Mom died toward the end of December of last year. She was sick for a long, long time. For many years, we shared the house that I grew up in. I'm here now, working to make my way through the days, to rebuild a life that was "on hold."
Anyway, I spent a lot of my childhood alone and got used to talking to myself. It's a normal thing, to chatter away; there's comfort there, I think. Now that my days are so quiet, I hear my voice loudly.
The thing is, it's my Mother's voice. We sounded alike. Not just a little alike but almost scary-alike. Even my aunts and uncles couldn't tell, on the phone, who was who. So these days, when I drop something and say, "S%&#!!!" I hear Mom. And when I say, "Have a good nap, Sweetie," I hear Mom. And when I tell me I'd better get the dishes done, I hear Mom saying it.
It's not a bad thing. Just jarring. You know? Yesterday I began to realize that it's a wonderful gift, to hear her voice. And I'm treasuring it.
Comments
I'm sure that it must be nice for the house to feel like she is still there. Triply nice for you, to have that sense of her still occupying your space.
Asplundh guys, So true -- :)
You were an awesome daughter to your mother, Robbbie.
Over the years, I have gotten my mother's hands. When I was younger, she would remark how long and slender and lovely my hands were, and her's were shorter and kind of stubby, and her skin was thin, with age-spots as she got older. Now my once long slender lovely hands look just like I remember my mother's --- including the age spots. I look at my hands and remember how busy and talented my mother's hands were. Even if they were not model's hands, they were always doing something loving and nurturing, or busy with honest hard work. I wish I was more like my mother, than just having her hands. I wish I could call her up and hear her beautiful voice again. I wish I could feel her take me in her arms and hold me close in a hug.
My heart goes out to you when I think of you and your mom, Robbbie. I know exactly what you're going through.
I'm starting to cry so I'm going to stop -- ((((((((((hugs))))))))))
&:o)
((Hugs))
You made TiG!!! Congrats! You're famous, now. You got this story put up on Vox's refrigerator. Try and remember us little folks now that you're a big star.
I write like my Dad and have my Dad's fingers (short and stubby).
Congrats on (TIG!)
That's very kind.