Departed father’s voice a gift at his son’s wedding
Tribune News Service
We tend to associate friends by the places we’ve lived, a shared season of life or the similar ages of our children. And then there are friends we associate with music.
One such friend was one of the musicians at church, a gregarious personality with a rich, powerful, deep voice.
We knew him through the songs he composed for our worship services, many of which became part of the repertoire.
Not long after he died, we sang one of his songs in church. His wife’s straight posture and stoicism collapsed under the weight of grief, her shoulders shaking and her body racked with sobs.
Time passed and when the couple’s four stair-step children were with her and when we sang one of his songs, there would be stirring and whispering and excitement among them. More time passed, the kids entered high school and college, and still they recognized their dad’s music, but without the stirring and the chatter.
I heard our friend’s deep, rich voice again recently. At his son’s wedding. He had recorded some books of the Bible on tape, which is how he came to have a part in the wedding.
There he was, or at least seemed to be, reading from 1 John about loving one another.
He’s been gone a dozen years, but it was as if he weren’t gone at all, simply standing out of sight, speaking into a microphone, reading from the book he loved.
It was startling to hear his voice. Disconcerting even. But then, the phrasing, the tones, the richness of his voice rekindled a wonderful warmth and familiarity. It was fitting that he was part of the service.
He was passionate about his role as father and husband, seeing himself not only as a provider, but as a teacher who could shape minds and open doors to discovery.
That passion reverberated through his voice as instruction to his son.
No matter how much time lapses, we can hear a voice and instantly recognize the speaker.
We hear personality in voices, confidence and enthusiasm or worry and fear. We can hear mood and outlook, sleepiness or alertness, kindness or harshness, patience or contempt. Tone of voice is nuanced and telling in a way that email, tweets and texts never can be.
It’s been years since my parents died, but I often pictured them once again at our kitchen table talking. Talking, talking, talking.
It wouldn’t matter a bit what either of them said; it would be their voices, a certain confidence punctuated by a lilt that said life might get hard, but keep slugging because it isn’t over.
Strong and loving voices from the past are a comfort and a treasure, whether they’re piped in at a wedding or only in our memories. Lori Borgman is a columnist, author and speaker. Email her at lori@loriborgman.com.