While getting ready for bed last night, out of the blue, I realized something. I could not remember what my mother’s voice sounded like.
I was seven years old when my mother passed away from breast cancer.
No matter how tightly I closed my eyes and opened my ears while thinking of past memories, I heard nothing.
It was as if I was watching a black and white movie with no sound. With my eyes still closed, I smiled at my remembrance of her face.
She was so beautiful, and then she started to talk but there were no words that followed.
If you would’ve seen me you’d think I was watching a sad movie, and in a sense I was. How could I forget such a sound?
Of all the pointless things that live in my head rent free, how could her voice not be one of them?
And in a state of panic, I started to remember all of the other things I had forgotten.
What were the last things we said to each other?
Did you die knowing how much I loved you?
Did you know that I promised to always be there for Caitlyn?
You don’t have to worry.
When was the last time we cuddled?
There is no black hole big enough to fit my questions nor strong enough to catch me at the speed that I am falling.
So still is what I was.
Still is what I am.
Still hoping your voice comes to me like the cold in the night…abruptly, quickly, fast.
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