I hear a voice, far away and muffled.  A sweet voice that I strive to find the source of.

One day, I finally see the face behing the voice, so happy to see me, a face filled with love.

Every day that voice soothese my sorrows and prompts me along to do better.  But year after year that voice begins to grate on my nerves and I long to remove myself from it.

Why must it nag me?  "I know what I'm doing!"  While I know it means well, "Stop, already!  I don't need your help any longer!"

Years go by and I no longer hear that voice daily that I once thought so sweet.  A picture would help, ut I don't hear that voice that I loved so long ago.  I pick up the phone and call the numbers that are so familiar to me.  When my  mother answers, I still feel the love and pride she has for me through that sweet voice, and my heart is whole again.