Mom and me

After Mom died, I missed her—all of her—but most of all, I missed her voice. There were times I’d reach for the phone to ask for her prayers, only to remember that she wouldn’t be on the other end.

When Nonna died, I knew I would never again hear that English-and-Rotondellese/Italian mix again, a kind of dialect all her own.

And when my dad died, maybe that was the hardest of all. He was the one I called when I needed answers. I remember well, during a particularly difficult time in my life, I dialed his number. He picked up with a strong, “Hello, my one and only daughter.” Just hearing his voice, I wept.

My reflection: Mom’s voice held prayer. Nonna’s voice held safety. Dad’s voice held security. Even now, a sound, a laugh, a song can take me back to them.

Something to think about: Research shows that smell is the strongest trigger for memory, but sound follows close behind, especially voices and music. It’s said that voices carry identity, intimacy, and emotion. When our children remember our voices, what emotions do we hope they’ll feel?

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