Lu is asleep on the couch. The cats lie on her, giving warmth and heartbeats and comfort. We are alone tonight.
I have never heard a deathly silence before.
It lies in the quiet between every word, now, and on a night like this it is even more clear. I hear who isn’t here.
It is mind-wrenching to think about Silas but it is all we can do when we can’t hear him, can’t see him, can’t touch him, can’t love him. We are trapped in a paradox of boundless love and endless death. Somewhere in there we have to carve out a space we can breathe in for now, and perhaps someday we will decorate it with hope and memory and peace.
I can suddenly feel the weight of Time. I know the growing space between Silas’ brief life and where we stand right now. It is as though we are being pulled away from him, even though he was lost to us right away. It feels like a betrayal to continue forward, that we have no choice but to be swept downstream, away from the moments in Time when he was here with us on Earth.
Sadness is settling into our lives, like the whisps of cat hair under the coffee table. I can feel it brush through the room, see it on the sunlight, taste it in the water. I don’t understand how I can be in the world with all of these other people around and none of them are Silas.
This life we are now living is so nonsensical it is dizzying. My gut will just drop away like I’m on a roller coaster when I think about my missing son. Whoosh, gone, and we are flying along, racing forward in Time. I can feel it all the way through me: the blazing pace of life plummeting into the quiet stillness of death. Over and over again.
It is a steep curve and it is unpleasant because we know we will be on this ride for the rest of our lives. But we don’t bother screaming every time we feel it, anymore. It would disturb the deathly quiet in our hearts where we have to listen for Silas.
The only sounds we hear, though, are the full-throated shouts of our friends and family telling us they love us, that they are there for us, that somehow or another they will get us off this hellish ride and that we will be safe and warm again someday soon.
The same Time that pulls us from our son will also someday heal us. Love and Time are the only cures for the frigid, empty, sad wind that blows through us tonight. We can feel the love, but the time isn’t right. Nothing is right tonight, without Silas.
11 comments
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October 14, 2008 at 8:32 pm
Hannah
I am thinking of you right now.
October 14, 2008 at 8:37 pm
keira
still here.
still shouting out my love for you both.
how i wish it was enough.
October 14, 2008 at 9:53 pm
Sally in Australia
http://www.glowinthewoods.com/home/2008/10/15/the-wave-of-light.html
I will be lighting a candle here for little Silas tonight. While I am wading through my own sea of grief, just 8 weeks out from my own loss, I can’t begin to tell you just how much your story has been and is continuing to move me. What a great Dad you are.
October 15, 2008 at 2:20 am
cheryl
i’m thinking of you now. it’s night time in the US, daylight in Australia. I suspect you are awake.
a friend of mine who lost his baby at birth many years ago told me in those first few weeks that the only time he felt alive, felt real, was when he was reliving the terrible moments of his son’s death. he was frightened he would never find his way beyond that moment, that his life would end there too.
he found his way. i don’t think he would say it’s guaranteed, but it’s possible. and i’ll light a candle right now – along with sally in australia – with a prayer that you might too.
October 15, 2008 at 5:15 am
kim klein williams
your writing is riveting and takes hold of me everyday when i read it. in your words silas lives on for all of us. reading your passages is something i religiously do now. always saying a prayer and always thinbking of you both.
October 15, 2008 at 7:14 am
Marcy Ritsick-Picano
Thinking of you Chris, and your family…..much love always
October 15, 2008 at 7:57 am
Cara
I, like Sally, will be lighting many candles tonight. One is for Silas.
To be bonded by the space and time of love is more powerful than our controlled version of days and nights. You are feeling that right now.
Thinking of you, often.
October 15, 2008 at 11:23 am
Marybeth
I visit your blog and think about you & Lani every day. I have chills all over after reading that; I am constantly amazed at your writing. My heart aches for you. Sending love and hope.
October 15, 2008 at 2:10 pm
Laura
Chris & Lani,
Please don’t think for a second that you’re somehow betraying Silas by rejoining the world: You’re merely surviving. It will be difficult, I’m sure, to leave the cocoon of your home this weekend, but trust that it will be worth the emotional effort. Together in NH, we’ll continue to laugh and play and relax, and look up at Silas’s star every evening.
Right you are that Time will do its best to heal…poco a poco. In the meantime, we’ll all continue to smother you as much as possible with that other medicine.
xoxo
October 15, 2008 at 8:03 pm
Bon
time and love, indeed. the funny thing that time does is make it so that you – believe it or not – can feel at peace with all that’s been lost, and yet break open again – not for yourself – each time you see it happen to someone else.
that’s how i feel about you guys. i thought of you tonight, and Silas, when i lit Finn’s candle…it’s Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance day. please know your son was remembered.
love and strength to you both.
October 15, 2008 at 8:24 pm
Amy
Aching for you two tonight. That time moving forward thing is such a double-edged sword. It’s like the only hope of survival, but also bringing you bit by bit farther from Silas.
Your words continually remind me that you had a lifetime of love to give to your sweet son. I’m so glad you have this space to speak what is truest in your mind and heart.
I’m glad to see you have plans to be with friends this weekend, in nature. I’ll be thinking of you.
Love to you both.