I lost my voice over the weekend. What started as a searing pain on Monday while swallowing turned into a tickly throat, a dry cough, and a voice that faded away by Friday night. Miming was difficult, particularly words about time (today, tomorrow, later, just now, before...) and certain people (how do you mime mother? What is the essence of mother? I was reading the superb poem The Lanyard by Billy Collins which reminded me how insufficient all we do for our mothers are, and the immensity of their love).
In time I found myself feeling isolated, with so many thoughts that usually tumble out in what my mother calls a 'burble', with what I sometimes cannot believe Jacob listens to while smiling at me affectionately, with all the words that I've collected over a little lifespan of reading and which I love. There wasn't enough time in a conversation to write out a full thought, and miming broke momentum. My words, written on paper, were functional with a little bit of wit at best.
On Sunday we hosted friends for an advent poetry evening, reading out and reflecting on poems that brought us closer to the waiting and longing that advent stands for. There were beautiful poems, plenty of them, and Jacob read out the two I'd chosen, and the reflections I scribbled about them. And yet I felt separate from the group because I couldn't speak.
It made me wonder about Dad, still sometimes struggling to find the words he wants, often shaking his head and saying in his muffled voice "I don't know." Does he feel left out of the conversation when it speeds by? Does he feel frustrated when he has something to say but the words don't come or we don't perceive what he's trying to say? On Sunday we remembered the first year anniversary of his stroke, and each shared something we are thankful for this year. On Dad's turn, he said "Mother law change." and no amount of questioning got any closer to the kernel of his meaning.
