Sitting in the soundproof booth in the hospital's ear, nose and throat department, I was a picture of total concentration. Wearing a set of earphones and holding a button to push whenever I heard a sound in the ear being tested, I was straining to hear the test tones as quickly as possible so I could use my thumb to push that button.
It's hard for me to believe, but the 15th anniversary of the death of my dad, Joe Kozlowski, will be in a few days. He suffered from both Alzheimer's disease and aphasia as a likely result of mini-strokes, so his speech in his last years was impossible to understand.
His smile was his primary way of communicating. That is a pleasant memory, but it does not help sometimes when I try to remember what his voice sounded like. I have to strain with my inner ear to find memories of what he said and how he said it in the nether regions of my brain.
Although my memory of the way he sounded is gradually dimming, my recollection of what he said by the way he led his life grows vividly.
My dad was a deeply religious man; a person who was a communicant at daily Masses for many years. His faith was also evident in his joyous marriage to my mother, and the gentleness with which he treated her and his four children.
He was known throughout the community as he walked the streets with a smile on his face and a rosary in his hand.
My dad's voice may be fading a bit in my memory, but the way he lived his life with a love of God, his family and others will always come through to my soul - loud and clear.
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We speak to God,
but do we listen to Him?