I saw a friend post last night on Facebook about how she longed to hear the voice of her longtime boyfriend who died from lung cancer a few weeks ago. I met him twice but cannot remember his voice. To her however, it was home.
I lost my friend Steve who sang in my band years ago. He recorded songs of mine that became highlights of the shows. I was unable to listen to the songs he sang on for some time after his death. That piece of archeology was too painful to dig up. When I did, I remember crying. What hurt the most was that it was an exact reminder of what I had lost, what the world had lost by his beautiful voice. His voice was him, just as much as his smile and his kindness.
I still cannot listen back to the voice of my father. I have done it a few times but could not do it for long. Then again, there was not a great deal for him to say on the cassette tapes I found. Just letters to friends who were horrible at writing him back.
Years ago, I saw an interview and a clip from a movie about the prophet Abraham who was played by bad boy actor Richard Harris. He sad that he did not want the voice of God to be huge, like in the Ten Commandments. He said that after he had been rather naughty and sinned (he was known for being a huge drinker and liked cocaine), he would go off to a monastery and pray. He said that the voice of God was was comes to all of us in silence, in prayer. And that voice is the one inside our heads, quiet and direct. No bombast. The voice of God, silent but available. So in the movie, the voice of God that speaks to Abraham is his own voice, slightly hushed, but in his head via a voiceover). Abraham looks like an insane man talking to himself.
From the moment of conception, we all hear our mother's heartbeat and her voice. That Music, that sense of pulse, is always with us. My mom's voice changed severely after a brain bleed stroke and I can say I do miss her old voice, light and airy. I have it recorded somewhere but cannot get the courage to listen to it. It is so hard to look back on what we cared about, what brought us joy, as gone.
I sent my friend a link to the book "A Year of Magical Thinking" by Joan Didion. In it, she tries to confront the sudden death of her husband without any religion. The upside is that she confronts the physical issues that come with deep mourning, something I always felt but could never get any real proof of. She does her best to make sense of it all, but never really does. Gone is gone. One can never make sense of Death even though it is a constant of the Universe.
In this digital recording age, we will have more archived footage of the past than any time in history. I do not believe that it will make death easier for people, but only harder. Because when we want their voice, we remember their embrace, and when we remember their embrace we remember their smell. And ,in the end, we want them back again in full. And that is not how this life works.
And, as always, we almost always find that out the hard way, after the fact....
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