Voices of Grief

I miss your voice

Your voice warm and low full of melody and bass made ripples of warmth under my skin, made me blush even when I didn’t want you anymore.

I miss your voice sharing joys and worries loving our kids. I miss your voice barging in uninvited, talking about yourself incessantly in my kitchen seeking approval, making amends with acts of service, with your labor…

Your voice speaking “as you wish”

Your voice crushed me at time cracking with tears of regret that I never fully trusted — regret never strong enough to keep it from happening again.

I miss your voice when it was teasing knowing exactly what buttons to push to get me to laugh at myself. Your voice persuading convincing of whatever swift change you were jumping into hoping it was the solution.

I miss your voice full of respect for me and kind words for me, wanting the best for me, ever there for me to climb into to be reminded I was loved.

***

I miss your voice

Your voice cool and deliberate beautiful phrases sliding into my ear filling the intellectual cravings of my mind.

I miss your conspiratorial voice sinking my thoughts into delightful circles, sarcastic wit laughing while I cringe because who can be mad at someone who calls out hypocrisy like Holden Caulfield when part of each of us is Holden Caulfield and we suspect the crucifixions are largely deserved, even, or maybe especially, our own.

I miss the rhythm of your voice picking me up when I get stuck in self rejection poking holes in my theories that breed judgement reminding me of the myths of growths and arrival and that one day there will be no void. Anxiously pressing your hair above your ear carefully choosing words to represent thoughts telling me maybe God is the void and we aren’t meant to vanquish it.

I miss your voice reminding me how brave we humans are to keep loving and living each day with are strong and fragile hearts out here risking destruction on romantic possibilities. I miss your voice nervously laughing over ice cream at the quirks of those we love and those who are our teachers.

I miss your voice even when it was biting and hurt to hear. The sting came from your fear and pain and in our intimacy it was safe.

I miss the intimacy I had with these voices. These voices surrounded me with the warm blanket of being seen, being known. Two less people in the world who know the intricate designs in the private spaces of my soul.

I miss their voices

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Tara Lingeman

Tara Lingeman

182 Followers

Seeker, Lover of Stories, Writer, and Teacher. Author of a memoir about searching and finding and a novel, Salamandra. Find both @ https://linktr.ee/taraling.