by Carol Jacobson
Have you heard the phrase “deafening silence”? I’m not sure that I used to understand what it meant.
It is autumn now, and evenings are finally cooler. We turn off the air conditioning and open the windows in the bedroom. I hear the quiet hum of the fan pulling in the cool night air.
Surprisingly, I hear crickets. We are in town, a busy street just past the tree line behind our house. But there they are, singing their sweet nighttime songs and they remind me of home.
In the far off distance, a train is rolling down the tracks, its whistle blowing across the night sky.
But you, I don’t hear. I don’t hear your late-night cries. I don’t hear the small sleepy sounds you should be making coming through the baby monitor. I listen closely, but cannot hear your deep nighttime breaths.
Your silence is so loud it hurts my ears almost as much as it hurts my heart. It breaks through the bedtime sounds and echoes silence through my head. It is deafening. And in it, I now understand.
I can hear the music, floating softly into my ears, which I play in order to drown out the silence. To ease the quiet of you.On those nights when I cannot sleep, the nights when the silence is so loud, I strain to hear the music. To hear anything else.
And sometimes, somehow, I can finally hear you.
The same song seems to play on my roughest nights, and I know it’s you.
Wish you were here, wish you could see this place
Wish you were near, I wish I could touch your face
The weather’s nice, it’s paradise
It’s summertime all year and there’s some folks we know
They say, “Hello” I miss you so, wish you were
Wish You Were Here, by Mark Wills
Carol Jacobson is wife to a wonderful husband, the love of her life, since September 2010. She is a mama to two much-loved and wished-for babies in Heaven, “Bean” – a miscarried little one at 6 weeks and Joanna Rose, a perfect, beautiful girl, who was stillborn at 25w6d on December 29, 2014. She is also a puppy mom, writer/blogger, marketing professional, Dunkin’ Donuts lover and Jesus follower. Carol shares her story — the story of her daughter Joanna, her journey through fertility struggles, miscarriage, stillbirth, grief and healing — on her blog, [Still] Gracious. Carol lives in Northern Virginia, where she enjoys reading, kayaking, visiting the zoo and going to the movies with her husband.
You can find Carol at: blog | twitter | instagram
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