The Sounds of Silence

The Sounds of Silence I recently heard the lyrics of *The Sound of Silence*, and something about them resonated deeply with me. I found myself listening not just to the words, but to what they seemed to say about loneliness, absence and the things we struggle to express. Perhaps it is because, since losing Sana, I have become acutely aware of the many sounds of silence. There is a particular kind of silence that comes with losing a child. It is not the peaceful silence we sometimes seek when life becomes too noisy. It is deafening. It fills rooms, occupies thoughts and settles into the smallest corners of everyday life. There is the silence of mornings when there is no message to wake up to, no spontaneous conversation, no photograph or little anecdote to share. There is the silence of celebrations when someone who would have been at the centre of the excitement is missing. There is the silence of reaching for the phone to share something and then remembering that the person you want to tell is no longer there to receive it. Sana had a way of filling spaces. She brought energy, creativity, humour and an unmistakable presence into everything she did. She had opinions, ideas, stories and a way of looking at the world that was entirely her own. She made ordinary moments special. I sometimes wonder whether we truly understand the sounds that make up a person's presence until we no longer hear them. The world continues to move. People go to work, celebrate birthdays, make plans, laugh and carry on with their lives. Outside, everything seems much the same. But inside, the landscape has changed irrevocably. Grief has taught me that absence is not simply the lack of someone. It is the presence of everything that person used to be in your life, without the possibility of experiencing it in the same way again. I hear Sana in a song, see her in a photograph and remember her in an unexpected conversation. Sometimes a familiar place brings back an entire afternoon. Sometimes the smallest detail opens a floodgate of memories. I cannot hear her voice the way I once did. But perhaps love finds other ways of speaking. It speaks through the stories we tell, the values we carry forward, the people we touch and the connections we continue to make. And perhaps that is what I am learning about the sounds of silence. Sometimes, beneath the deafening absence, there are still sounds of love, purpose and meaning. We just have to learn to listen differently. For Sana. Always