Yesterday morning, I awoke, could feel Joe stirring beside me, so I wished him a good morning. We both paused. My voice was back. I’m almost crying at the writing of this. You see I came out of the hospital with a new voice. A weak, soft voice, full of holes, the kind of voice that comes from sickness and ill health, it was a voice with no strength, no power. It has a hospital voice suited to choosing jello or ice cream to nurses straining to hear.
But yesterday morning, my voice, my real voice, came for a visit. I sounded strong, my voice had power and intonation and seemed desperate to tell a story. It was a remarkable difference. I had wondered if it had gone forever. I wondered if I was to be forever mourning its loss.
But no, it was resting too.
It didn’t make the whole day. It lasted until early afternoon. Which I thought was a good long time for a visit. It’s back again this morning.
It’s early but I want to rush out and try it on someone.
But I won’t.
I’ll be able to use it at work.
There are so many things that illness takes from you. There are so many things lost. But some come back.
Thank heaven’s one of those has been my voice.
It’s not a pretty voice, or a classy voice, but it’s been a strong voice when I’ve needed one.
And again this morning, it’s home.
