I haven’t forgotten the sound of your voice any more than I have forgotten the sound of my mother’s heartbeat when I rested my head against her chest during cold Wisconsin nights.
I haven’t forgotten the sound of your voice any more than I have forgotten the sound of the wind shuffling its feet through kaleidoscope colored leaves in the Kickapoo Valley.
I haven’t forgotten the sound of your voice any more than I have forgotten the sound of my breath exhaled in cold clouds of wishes half-formed.
Ummi? Is that you?
Yes, it’s me, it’s me here listening and waiting, thinking and planning, hoping and striving. Yes, it’s me, still holding you as close as ever I did those hours spent each evening going over the blessings of the day and looking forward to what we would do on the next. Yes, it’s me, pulling you still in your little red wagon with your name painted on the side, full of books and stuffed animals and the Cheetos truck you wouldn’t let go of. Yes it’s me, sitting in the swing on Grandma and Grandpa’s porch, holding hands, looking at the stars, never imagining I would be a world apart from you, my little blonde whirlwind.
Yes, it’s me.
Just a few words, a few seconds of peace snatched out of a world that is increasingly chaotic.
All of the words I had stored up in a full heart, behind closed lips for weeks suddenly change form, becoming tears that refuse to be held back, tears of love and joy and loss and patience and pain for you, for me, for what has been and what may be.
I cannot speak, but I can hear, and I hear your voice as it always was, reciting Qur’aan all day long, no matter what you were doing.
I cannot speak, but I can hear, and I hear your voice as it always was, asking questions that made me think with my head as well as my heart.
I cannot speak, but I can hear, and I hear your voice as it always was, before.
Your voice and the wind blend together, and I hear the cry of the child that has become the man.
Note: Damaaj is under attack from the Shi’ite Houthis yet again, and I have had news that my son has been injured. Alhamdulillah, barakAllaahufeekum all of you who have worked to get word to him to get in touch; he did, and hearing his voice was a gift like no other, mash’Allaah.
If anyone has news from any reliable sources in the village, please leave a comment, or contact me directly, insh’Allaah.