Before the crust on American Pie burned and the music died, like Holly on the vine, people needed to listen for the voice. To this end, Halloween always makes for spiritual delight, when we can mash with some monsters, celebrate with some costumed sweets and think about those who are no longer with us – those who gave voice to our lives, not only when we couldn’t, shouldn’t or wouldn’t, but when we needed it, to become who we would be as adults.
Recently, Facebook offered one of those pesky “Apps” for anyone caring to download it. This one would allow those who pass away, to leave a message after they are gone. Reminded me of the lawyer in Florida who was buried with his cell phone, letting friends and family call to hear his voice on mail messages. Only this App of a message could prove more painful, than loosing someone from our lives ever was – a voice in anger, revenge or jealousy needs to stay buried, dead or not. Seriously, we can all see the writing on that wall!
Mediums are large business in our society, as people with broken hearts, promises and dreams hope to re-connect with someone who has died and left them behind. There is more of a desire in our world to understand the meaning of Rosebud, then there is to smell the roses, and delight in the time you have, sharing someone in your life, be it a wonderful life, petals or not. Yes, every war of the roses has their thorns; the blood piercing affect they have though is not just for protection, but to remind us we are still living. And, just like those thorns, is the small voice deep inside us all, cricket given or not, from those who raised and loved us, friends that understood us and experiences that proved them right, but not many of us ever really listen to it.
When my parents passed away, I was lucky to have numerous voice mail and answering machine tapes reminded me I was loved, a funny joke or a chance to remember a special occasion. Those disembodied voices from my soul, can make me cry or laugh depending when I hear them. Regardless of that, they always remind me who I am and what I have done – good or bad, in this time I have, and push me forward to be the best person I can be. I can’t silence that voice and I would never want to try.
As the new year continues, already two weeks past there will be times for tears, none of us can do the mash all the time, but we can avoid the monsters who shout their dysfunctional positions, trying to hurt or tempt us with what we hear. Life is a journey, and even though those who have touched us, loved us and cared for us are no longer around to give us direction, they are always with us knowing we will listen with our hearts just as they always did for us.
The silence we long to break through is not always a golden sound, sometimes it is the taste of a warm Christmas cookie, a torn sweater still smelling of hairspray, a wrinkled handkerchief found in an old coat pocket or a broken toy with the memory still in tact. The voice of those who pass on, lives in our actions, acts of kindness and dreams … it is called love.