I haven't written anything on here for awhile now. Partly because the therapist had suggested to start writing in a notebook, maybe for tangibility... Whatever the reason, I don't believe anything that I would have transcribed would have been more than self destruction.
It has been just over five months since I heard her voice, that gruff voice streaming over telephone lines, thick with irritation from the annoyance of a phone call at this time of day. In all reality, it was anytime of day, her rugged hello had the ability to cause even the most thick-skinned, balls-to-the-wall determined telemarketer to quickly back down, even to the point of retreat, waving his white flag high in the air as he whimpered into submission. Instantaneously her voice slipped into a gleeful welcome as she recognized the familiar caller on the other end of that call.
I sit here, with the swishing sounds of the rinse cycle rhythmically chugging in the background, eyelids slowly closing out the glaring lights from this laptop, and momentarily hear that same sweet voice, excitedly inquiring how I am doing. Never did she care to talk a minute about herself, I was her gift for that space in time. I was all that mattered. She cared little to expose the pain she suffered, to relate the grief she still felt from losing her own mother so recently, to rant about how aggravating my father was. The only focus was allowing her an opportunity to see into the doors of your life, as if she, for an instant, could escape the perils of her world, and walk with you through your journey.
Rather suddenly, the images fade with the buzzing vibration of my pink Blackberry sitting so loyally nearby. All I'm left with, is the hopes that I can someday fill the void left behind.
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