" Mother gave me my voice by withholding hers, both in life and in death. Her creativity presided in her home. She spoke through gestures, largely quiet and graceful. A letter. A meal. A walk together. Her touch. She lived on a private, elegant plain.
Mimi gave me my voice by proclaiming hers: directly, honestly, and at times, shickingly. When Brooke and I want to tell her we were getting married, she said, "How winderful! and if it doesn't work out, you can always get a divorce."
But I believe my own voice continues to be found wherever I am being present and responding form my heart, moment by moment. My voice is born repeatedly in the fields of uncertainty."
T T Williams, When Women Were Birds