Saturday, April 27, 2013

Voices Never Change

I was visiting my nine-ty one year old mom this weekend.  We listened to Friday night shows on TV as she read the daily newspaper.  She has her crossword puzzle by her side as she does the daily word search.  It has been her constant buddy to keep her mind sharp and alert.

"Do you want to listen to Grandma Douglass tell her stories? Your brother made them into casset tapes so we can listen.  He recorded her when she was 87." she explained

"Sure I use to love to hear her stories of growing up." i answered

I felt Grandma Douglass was in the room as we heard her voice.  I remember the Oklahoma twange in her dialect.  Stories link us to the past and give us a foundation to the present.  She loved sitting in her rocking chair as we listened.  I imagined her next to us as we heard about coming to Oklahoma to visit her brother and father at the tender age of seventeen.  She had been separated from them since her mother divorced her father and raised a second family in Arkansas.  She described the farm she lived on with Grandpa MacPherson where your vegetables came fresh from the garden.  She developed a love for raising potatoes, broccoli  and yellow squash.

Her brother Oscar became her best friend in her new home of Oklahoma.  They ended up having adjoing farms where they raised their families.

As we listened to her tell of Arkansas on Moon Hill I thought voices never change.  Just like my mom's voice stays sweet and reassuring. I heard the the wheels turn on her walker late at night.  She came into my bed and gave me a squeeze.  
 I love you Sandra.   You are a good person.  The words felt so sweet and loving.  As if someone wanted to tell my soul you are alright. .    

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