Wednesday, July 11, 2018

I Hear Voices

Somewhere on the WWW today, a writer was describing his loss of his recently-deceased mother.  He could not hear her voice anymore.  I started thinking about this, and the first voice that came into my head was my grandmother Gram's voice.  I can still hear it!  I was in college in her elder years.  She was widowed.  I loved her.  I called her frequently, just to talk. 

"Gram?  It's Trish."

A purring voice replied, "Well, Trish, how ARE you?"

And we went nonstop from there.  I can hear her chuckle, her laugh.  I still see her smile, too.  Her era was all about china painting, and she had the patience of Job when it came to teach me how to paint.  It never took, but we had such great conversations during the process.  I wonder if she felt the same?  I did and do appreciate the time she spent, talking to me.

There was once, when Gram took me, a young pre-teen, to the grocery store in her tiny town on an errand.  There, we ran into an acquaintance of Gram's - an elderly woman who had monocular vision.  (Think: Marty Feldman).  Now, I was not a stranger to monocular vision - my own sweet mother had monocular vision, and it never occurred to me that something was amiss with her eyesight until I was a teenager and a neighborhood friend asked me, "What's wrong with your Mom's eyes?"  And I had no clue, no clue at all, to which she was referring.  But maybe that's another blog post altogether...

Gram introduced this lady to me, we exchanged niceties, and that was that.  So I thought.  But the lady turned to us (Gram and me) as she left the checkout, and she said something.  I thought she was talking to Gram.  It LOOKED like she was talking to Gram.

As soon as the lady was out of earshot, Gram gave me the only chastisement I think I ever received from her.

"When someone speaks to you, you need to reply."

I had no idea what Gram was saying to me.  But I remember her voice. 

Gram had an old lady singing voice, which I loved.  I only heard it when we went to church together.  But I remember it.  Memory plays a sweet part of our lives.  Some of the replies to this writer's post told of recording voices, and saving voicemail messages from loved ones.  I understand that - it was difficult for me to erase voicemails from my parents, the years prior to their passings.  I DID erase them.  I DO hear their voices, thank God. 

So.  I hear voices.  They are a comfort.   


No comments:

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...