The voice of the heart is one of the first things we hear. As a child, in our mother's womb, our hearts are one of the first things to develop and not so coincidentally, one of the first things we understand.
Before we are born, we are lulled to sleep, and find such peace, in our mother's hearts. The beating of her heart gives us life. It sends us peace. It gives us a place in this world.
Once we are born, we lay on our mother's chest. We suckle her breast. We drink the sweet nectar of her bosom. We hear her heart. It is the first language we know.
I remember being a child and snuggling down on my mother's chest. A day of being bullied, a night of restless sleep, an hour of discomfort, was all laid to rest, on my mother's chest with the beat of her heart completely in sync with mine.
After losing my dad and watching his last heartbeat, I comprehended that it was the last beat his heart would physically take, but spiritually, his heart had never been stronger. I have never believed that he "left" us.
The fact is, his heart beats on in me. It beats on in my children. It beats on in my mother. It beats on in my brothers. I feel his blood mixed with mine. It pumps through me. It sustains me. We are wonderfully connected. Before. Now. Always.
Right now, I cannot rely on modern science. I cannot call him. I cannot hear him, but that does not mean he's not there. In a very real way, he has never been closer. I do not need the mediums this Earth has placed on me. All I need is a thought. A prayer. A conversation that my heart has with his.
Those are the things that sustain me. Those are the things that root me. Those are the things that keep us- he and I, coming home.
The language of the heart. The most beautiful and unique language there is.