The difficulty when someone transitions, whether by an ‘accident’, a sudden illness or a long term illness, the ones who are left behind for sure are left grieving the loss of a friend, a family member, or a partner. Although death is a part of life, it is the truth that all of us are still unprepared for the emotional aspect of the loss. We eventually come to grips that he or she is not here anymore. For me what I miss the most is not hearing the person’s voice.
Although we communicate now so much by email, letter writing has virtually been eliminated as a way of communicating. So the significance of the person’s voice, the sound of his or her laughter, the inflection of the voice, the feedback of advice, the caring tones of support or advice, whether over the phone or left on a voicemail, I miss hearing that person’s voice.
In our everyday busy lives, running around, doing this or that, we know we can always count on that certain person to be there. Even if he or she lives close or far away, the affect of that familiar voice over the phone or cell phone is somehow always comforting. We know even how he or she is feeling by the tone of the voice. We know that particular person is also glad to hear from us too. Sometimes it is not even the words that are spoken, but the unique tone that feels so good to hear when he or she picks up the call or vise versa. It is the voice of friendship that I miss so much.
Using our intuition we can, when we are open to it, feel the presence of the one who has transitioned and has moved on in his or her journey. We can rationalize, spiritualize and even agree that this is what he or she has chosen to do, but when all is said and done, for me I greatly miss that unique voice that is so familiar. Though the person always lives in my heart and I hold all the great memories of the relationship there too, I miss the sound of the voice of the person who I loved so much.
Missing you MaryScott, dear sister friend and the sound of your laughter, though it is in my heart, my ears feel empty.
