I have lost many family members over the years. Sometimes the person I miss the most is my dad. I come from a large family and not only was I the first girl, after 3 boys, I was born smack in the middle of the ‘pack’. To my understanding, my father named me – meaning the first girl was to be called Gretchen. I remember growing up and wanting very much to be close to my dad. It always seemed to me that the boys came first. After my mother died, Dad stayed around for several years, but it wasn’t until his last year of life that I finally felt close to him. I only wish there had been more time.
My mother-in-law found the following piece by Glenda Batzer. Reading Glenda’s The Whispers Within, I feel that close connection to my dad and take comfort knowing he is one of my ‘little voices’.
So often in our lives we are visited by “little voices” – voices which help guide us in the choices we make and, sometimes, in the paths we take. These voices are part of our subconscious, a layer of our psyche that fashions who and what we are. They are as much a part of us as our skin. We trust that our own “little voice” will not let us down in times of uncertainty or trouble.
I have a theory about my “little voice”. I believe that when the people with whom you are closest leave this world and go to their final reward, they become part of your “little voice”.
I can still hear my grandmother Virginia telling me a story during a summer rainstorm to comfort me. I still hear her gentle yet strong courage. She is part of my little voice.
I remember my brother Raymond, who always knew when the ice-cream truck would appear on our street. He would take my by the hand to the corner to wait for that truck full of delicious treats, my five cents clutched tightly in my other hand. Raymond would always tell me what ice cream to choose. His part of my little voice.
I remember my father-in-law Allan, with whom I had long philosophical discussions, out by the barbecue over many a glass of white wine. Dad treated me with dignity and respect as though I was his own flesh and blood. His is part of my little voice.
My “little voice” is the quiet whispers of past generations that I carry with me. Some I have known, but many I have not. They create a link to my past and keep the memories of those I cherish alive in my heart.
May these quiet whispers continue to be a beautiful and lasting voice within me, and may I someday become that little voice for my children and future generations of my family.
– Glenda Batzer
Who are your “little voices” that help and guide you in this life?