I was thinking about people I don’t see very much anymore and as I thought of them, their voices echoed in my mind. Sometimes very clearly and sometimes only a word or phrase clear enough to recognize. I was doing pretty good until I got to my grandpa. I can’t call his voice up. I’ve tried but there’s nothing. It makes no sense to me. He often would let me sit on his lap while he read “Huckleberry Finn” or “The adventures of Tom Sawyer”. I can still sense the feel of the flannel shirts and the aroma of the cigar smoke on him. But for some reason the voice is a big blank. I can’t figure it out. I can hear my grandma’s voice clear and loving. All the people I cared about who are gone have a voice I carry in my memory. I wonder if my own adult voice is like his. Maybe that’s why I can’t hear him.
Photo shows my grandpa holding on to the iron fence.