Silent month

Clearly blogging and I are taking a little break from each other.

But not every break signals bad things, and separation can cause noise where  you might expect silence.

A year ago, it was as if I fell through the ice of a frozen pond. I was growing more and more certain that I was in horrible danger—those were the moments I could get my head above the numbing water. The rest of the time I was under the ice, able to see everyone walking around above me, but unable to break through to get help. The panic would rise, and I would numb it back down again. 

It is so strange to be going through this season of holidays and deepening weather and the excitement of my children, when a year ago I was pretty sure I wouldn't see this December, or if I did, I'd be watching it from a jail cell. I feel incredibly strong, but at the same time, I am craving silence in the worst way. The slightest shadow spooks me; the next minute I feel omnipotent. It’s like waking up from a bad dream many times a day. It's taking almost all of my energy. I still maintain that alcoholics going into recovery should be granted a cure by the sea. For, oh, two years. 

When my youngest son had his first set of tubes in his ears, I carried him out through the doors of the hospital and into the parking lot and he startled, whimpered, then burrowed down into my arms and looked around fearfully. “What is the noise?” he asked, trying to push his head under my arm to cover his ears. It was just the spring birds, but he had never heard them so clearly. He remembered for years how deafening they sounded that day, how their beautiful sound was distorted by volume into ugliness.

I am struggling to get the words to describe how it is to go through December without it causing me pain. I had forgotten, have forgotten, that I used to love the way this month pulls in winter with a hokey overdone flourish, like someone dragging a ice-cold fragrant Christmas tree into a room. I wish I could observe it all from a great distance this year. I wish I could watch it pass by me, safely out of my orbit, beautiful to look at, but silent.

Comments

[CrunchyTruth]

So very happy to hear your voice, to have you back among the living. You are missed!
-- Dave

[Dawn]

Hello! Nice to see you!

It's a hard occasion to find any silence, isn't it?

Glad you're still here. Here's hoping it gets easer in 2009 and that next Christmas you're revelling in all the festive noise you can find.

[CrunchyTruth]

Damn you and your silence!!!