Silence

A thunderstorm knocked our power out for four hours last night. When it happened, the kids and I were in the basement seeking shelter during a tornado warning. Dennis, of course, is out of town this week, so I had to be the big, strong parent keeping the children from being frightened. (Meanwhile, I was scared out of my wits – I do earthquakes, not tornados!) At the same time with a sputtering flashlight, I routed around for candles, matches, spare diapers, wipes and our electric bill and/or phone book to report the outage. Just a little more excitement than I was expecting right before the kids’ bedtimes.

The warning expired at 8 p.m. – just in time to get everyone tucked into bed nearly on time. Other than humidifiers and ceiling fans not running, they had no idea we were powerless. But with the kids in bed, I could relax, light a few more candles around the house and wait for power to resume.

The house was silent. It was more than silent. It was that deafening silence when all you can hear is ringing in your ears. No distant sound of Dennis snoring or children coughing. Not even the whirr of the air conditioner or the hum of the refrigerator. Absolute… painstaking… silence. It was the first time I have been absolutely alone in such quiet possibly since my early 20s when I thought paying my electric bill was optional.

More than once, I found myself with the remote control in hand, eager to check the weather’s developments. Couldn’t call Dennis, he was long asleep resting up for another early work day. It was too dark to read. Too early to go to bed. I tried to pray, but couldn’t concentrate over the steady C note ringing in my head. I prayed a little for that to cease.

So I sat. I watched the candle flicker, noting its reflection sprightly dance upon the ceiling. I listened to the wick hiss to the rhythm of the rain dripping on our front porch. I thought about the irony of having no electricity, while the fireflies outside still floated about brightly. I programmed the power outage phone number into my cell phone, and made a mental list of supplies I should keep in one place in the basement for similar occurrences in the future. I sited the cliché of how spoiled with and helpless without electricity we are, wondering how people in “the old days” lived without all of life’s modern day conveniences.

Then I got scared. For no particular reason (other than my general fear of the dark). I hated this silence. I caught myself thinking, “Please go back on!” rather urgently more than once. The complete absence of noise reminded me too much of when I was alone. No Dennis. No Frankie. No Annabelle. No anybody. Not even Cutie. I was really sad back then, but sitting alone in the dark silence tonight didn’t make me sad, it scared the crap out of me.

I turned back to prayer and thanked God for all that He has given me since then. While all the noise drives me crazy most days, it isn’t until I found myself trapped in such piercing silence that I realized what a blessing all the ruckus is. Mothers are always begging for peace and quiet, but I had four long hours of it all to myself, and almost couldn’t handle it. Yet again, the irony.

So, when the TV is too loud and the screaming won’t relent, the dog barks at nothing and a two-year-old needs my immediate attention, I must remember that the alternative is a very lonely, scary place. Thank you, God for giving me Dennis and Frankie and Annabelle and Cutie (sort of) – my beloved clamor.