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Silence. Are you my friend or enemy? The answer is illusive and ever changing. You can be sweet and wonderful. You can also be frightening and lonely. Silence was like this for me, even as a child. There were many times I lay in bed, my head covered with a blanket, afraid to move in the total silence of the night. Afraid that, IT (silence) would get me if I were to so much as move a muscle or call out for reassurance. The other end of the spectrum is that daytime found me seeking silence. My household was large, holding three generations. I loved to read and write and draw , and for these pastimes I preferred silence. I often spent entire days under a tree, happily reading my latest library book away from the noise.

Once upon a time, when my four children and four grandchildren were small and noisy and surrounding me all day long, the silence did not come until they were asleep. It came then in the sweet comfort of a day well filled. They grew into teenagers and silence came between us much too often. It rang out like a battle-cry. The silence of questions unanswered. The silence/fear of waiting up once a curfew had passed. The words that should/could have been shared, staying inside the silence. Time moved, oh so rapidly. They grew. They went into marriage or off to school. Still the identity of silence remained ever-changing.

There are sometimes whole days that I now spend in almost total silence. Sweet, wonderful silence. Allowing me to contemplate anything and everything that I might wish. Reading an entire book, if I should become so enmeshed in it's content. Days filled with gardening. The silence broken only by the song of birds, the scrape of rake, the sweet sprinkle of water or the snapping of my clippers while I choose a bouquet from my garden for a neighbor or an ill friend. The silence is not my friend when I find myself missing the noisy household of my childhood. A place where there was always someone to talk or listen to, and many cousins, plus a brother and a sister with whom to play.

Even though silence has often been a sought after commodity for me, now in the light of my new found empty-nester identity it can be filled with voices from the past. Little voices, some my own, others, so well loved, but long gone, but most often those of my children asking for their Mommy ring out. Sweet and lonely. Comforting and fearful. Silent, but golden.

Learn more about this author, Brenda Reynolds.
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