We are surrounded by the quiet. Where once was a young man's voice of happiness and joy and at times of pain...there is now only the quiet.
I let the six month anniversary of his death pass without a word because I want others to feel how it feels- the quiet.
What I wouldn't give to hear his sounds in the night. The sounds of the morning. The sounds of his living in each of our days. What I wouldn't give to sit back and watch his ingenious ways to flood a bathroom, make a giant mess eating popcorn and chips- oh the sound of his crunching of chips, how I miss thee!
Instead we have the quiet.
Six months ago we lost him. A year ago his breathing difficulties began, as he silently marched toward his death without a soul knowing for months. While the depth of his issues was unknown, we were hearing him loud and clear as his pain screams began. We just didn't understand. We tried to protect him. To understand. To make doctors understand. And through it all, we made sure he was living the most epic life possible.
I never knew why my drive to give him such a life was so high- I just had the constant gnawing, the constant feeling that I needed him to live an epic life. We wouldn't hide away from the world out of fear. Instead we would teach- teach him the feel of the wind upon his face during a hike,
Six months has passed and we still are not used to the quiet.