On this particular evening—
Silence is a warm fleece blanket that has just come out of the clothes dryer on a cold night.
Silence is a popping flame in a fire pit while listening to Nat King Cole’s “Christmas Story”
This Silence is an ooey-gooey marshmallow and Hershey’s bar on a s’more.
This Silence is a friend I have not seen in a long while, and while I melt into his arms, I find myself home.
He is a baby snoring peacefully on my chest.
This Silence is a toe dipped in warm tub water after a long day.
This Silence is as welcome as the sight of a young child running to see his mom at the end of a day.
I long for This Silence.
I find myself in This Silence.
I play hide and seek with This Silence, deliberately seeking him out,
Turning off the television, the noise of the world.
And when I find him, I put my head on his chest, and feel his warm arm around my shoulders.
Peace.
This Silence reminds me of my best self, my strengths, my value in the world.
This Silence whispers affirmations in my ear,
He makes me feel like I am capable of almost anything.
I cuddle up with This Silence and never want him to leave.
BUT
This Silence has a twin,
A mirror character,
A foil,
A monster under the bed,
A dark shadow hiding in the closet.
And this Other Silence appears when I least expect him.
This Other Silence laughs like a middle school bully,
This Other Silence screams at me,
Cackles at me with teasing reminders of my aloneness,
Taunts me with past betrayals,
Berates me for past mistakes,
Whispers to me of lost relationships, blaming me,
His voice is the sound of a wind howling outside on a moonless night.
He lands his laser focus on the empty chair,
the hopes and dreams that are unfulfilled,
the missing voices of my children,
the pictures of those who have gone on,
the silent phone,
the empty email box and mail box.
The noise is deafening in this Other Silence.
This Other Silence taps me on the shoulder with lost touches.
He tears at my clothes, rips off the blanket on my lap,
Exposing my skin, raising chill bumps from the back of my neck to my toes.
He rips the pages from the books that carry me to other worlds,
And hands me back a blank cover, saying that there is no escape.
He closes the blinds and turns out the lights.
He blows the candle flame out—-and leaves me no opportunity to wish.
He magnifies the echoes of my voice,
As I desperately try to fill the space left.
He traces my skin with his fingers at least an inch above my body,
Making me almost beg for touch,
For communion, for another,
And then disappears in a poof of air.
He leaves me bare and naked, shivering vulnerable beneath his interrogation lamp.
He leaves me the audio recording of every horrible thing ever said to me,
Even providing me headphones so I can hear better.
This Other Silence lies, as he shows me the evidence of my aloneness,
Convincing me that I must confess, I must break.
No one can save me.
It is all my fault.
It is just me.
Alone.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It would be so easy to agree with this Other Silence.
He is so convincing.
But each time
This Other Silence comes out of hiding,
Each time he creeps and snarls from under my bed,
Each time this Other Silence leaves me bare and naked,
I somehow get up.
Sometimes, in this nakedness,
I pick up the pen and the blank paper,
And scratch some words in black ink,
Revealing my nakedness for all to see,
Hoping that in this vulnerability, someone else will know they are not alone,
Finding the universality of our human experience.
Other times, when this Other Silence leaves me bare and naked,
I get on my hands and knees and gather the scraps of clothing torn from me,
And find the thread and needle
And sit, surrounded by images of my family,
Surrounded by memories of happy moments with friends,
And I sew.
I mend the holes.
I refashion the old scraps.
I make myself a new outfit that fits the new self.
While I sew, I begin to sway.
I tap, tap, tap my toes.
I move my lips to a song hidden within.
This Other Silence slinks away with my music.
I am ready to dance.
Watch me.
