This past year, or I suppose last year, I had a moment where I kept expecting my mom to call me. It, of course, couldn’t happen since my mother has been gone for a while. It was an extremely odd feeling to wait for her call. I so longed for it. It’s a hard feeling to go through.
A few days ago I had a hard, long complicated day. I was upset at the disappointments I had experienced. I was a bit sad at all the craziness surrounding us all. I was supremely annoyed. Agitated, even. When I got home, I sat on the couch and looked at my phone. I started to reach for my phone with the intention of calling my mom.
I had experienced an instinctual reaction of wanting to hear her voice. I didn’t want any words of comfort. No sage advice. Nor any words of slight reprimand at my sullen self. Well, I could have used a smorgasbord board of all that and more. All I had wanted was to hear her voice.
A voice with no words. No sentences. No directives. Just a voice. A hum. A sound. That was what my fingers had been reaching for. I wanted to hear a soothing voice from the past. I want and hope that my voice can provide such comfort to my son in the future.