Speechless

Earlier this evening in my family group chat, my eldest sister Elizabeth had posted that she was watching our sister Darlene's wedding video. My heart quickened a little as I had a strong recollection of my mother speaking in it. Worries about the pandemic and school moving to an online model were briefly ignored because at that moment, I knew I had to hear Mom's voice again. In my mind's eye, I was transported back to my Aunt Betty's kitchen stuffy little kitchen. I recall we had been getting ready at her house and sitting around her kitchen table on that hot July day almost thirty-four years ago. My Uncle Tony, her husband and wedding photographer, was puttering about the livingroom taking photos of the bride as well as various members of her bridal party. I was decked out in white lace in all of my junior bridesmaid glory. I was honoured to be a part of my sister's day and all but the lace and my sunburned arms were an itchy and miserable combination.    

The message shared in the group chat is as follows: Betty, could you do me a favour? At some point would you be able to rewind it to where we are getting ready at Aunt Betty Borowski’s, take a video, and share it? I recall Mom speaking there. I’d love to hear her voice.

Part of me felt a little odd for such a request. Thankfully she was quick to oblige.   

Time and memory are funny things. Not in the laughable sense per se but it can somehow change how I recall or even perceive events from my past. Up until tonight, my mother's voice is one I am certain I would always remember. The richness of her singing voice from the early days of my youth, the raspiness of it after the coughing fits which often followed her home nebulizer treatments, and the sound of it choked with emotion linger. November 1991 is when I heard her speak for the last time. I know if I poured over the writings in old journals, a precise temporal reference could be given.

With much gratitude to a smartphone recording shared in a Facebook group chat, I heard Mom's voice again. I will confess that I did a double-take. I felt overwhelmed. I was overcome with emotion and pretty well rendered speechless following my nonsensical babbling. (Truly, that is no small feat.) Keep in mind, she died when I was fifteen years old. Her smile as she tried to avoid the videographer made me grin. That was so typical of her. The cadence of her voice as she jokingly chided the videographer "Am I in the movies?" sounded as I remember. It saddens me to say that actually hearing her voice that has been tucked away in my mind and in my heart sounded a little foreign. I have always feared forgetting what she sounds like. Then I simply close my eyes, inhale, wait for the exhale, and feel the steady rhythm of my heart. The blood that flows through my veins links me to her in a bond that can never be broken.