March 24, 2014
I hear your voice. You whisper words of comfort to me in my mind. I know you are there, at least in the sense that you are still inside a part of me if it, whether it be my brain, my body, or my soul. Somewhere you are present and I carry you and you carry me through the dark.
I hear your voice. “You will get to keep this one, mom. It is going to happen.” Your reassuring words reverberate through my ears and settle into my heart as a momentary warmth of calm settles in my soul. Your statement brings me peace for the time being. Until I hear my voice responded with, “But it’s not fair, I didn’t get to keep you.”
I hear your voice. “I know. I love you, mom. You will get to take this one home.” And as you murmur these words to me from a place unknown to my soul and body I begin to cry, because your simple words are true. There is no going back, there is no changing things there is only moving forward and without saying it, you said it, looking back is not an option, moving forward and enjoying the present is all we have now. This we both have learned. This is the reality of life; we only have the guarantee of now.
I hear your voice. It’s a silent voice with no words this time, but I hear it just the same. Your singing speaks to me through the light, airy, and freshly fallen snow as it gently lands on my long golden blonde hair as I walked into work this morning. I am sitting here now, watching it out my window, sensing your soul as each snowflake makes its way from cloud to earth. A journey I wish you could have made, but your feet never touched the soil of this world.
I hear your voice. In the gentle snowfall I remember the last time you were there, two nights before you slipped silently out of my womb without entering this world but moving onto another. I remember the piles of snow crunching beneath my boots as your dad, George our little doggy and I hiked through the wooded trail down by the river bluffs. Me holding you in my belly every slow step of the way and watching the snowfall gently and leisurely, almost magically on the birch trees that towered above us on both sides. It was then that something inside me told me to stop and take in the majesty of nature surrounding us. I paused, as Nick and George walked ahead up a steep hill on the white covered trail. As I looked back over my shoulder there was a moment, like today when I heard a voice. At that time I didn’t know it was yours.
I heard your voice say, “Your life will never be the same.” And when I heard those words I smiled, thinking I would be changed for good and forever by holding you. I guess the feeling was right, I was changed for good, and forever, just not in the way I had planned. So when I heard your voice in the snowfall of today that reminded me of the snowfall fifteen months ago I have to admit, I got scared. “Was this a sign that this baby will be taken too?”
I heard your voice. It was comforting. You said, “No mom. This is just a sign that I am still here. I am present and with you on this journey of bringing my little sister into this world. This is a sign that everything will be okay. I love you.” And, I cried.
I hear your voice today. I hear your voice every day. I sometimes ask, “Is this what I am supposed to be doing? Am I living a life you would be proud of and I won’t regret?” And I hear your voice say, “Yes. Just keep doing what you are doing.” And in those words I find comfort, even though it’s hard to keep doing this as I am scared.
I hear your voice. “Don’t be scared. I am with you.” And fear lifts and floats away.
When I hear your voice.
Love Always & Forever,