I've gone through my life quietly, probably a result of my early training. My Grandmother Odessa shared her Native American perspective of the natural world with me. In it, people lived with the land. You could only experience the fullness of nature if you learned to be stealthy, invisible, and quiet. I practiced my art hiding along the trail to her house. Sometimes I was hidden so completely, I could have touched her from my hiding place yet remained undetected. From there, my Dad helped develop in me the skills of a hunter. He taught me how to hold myself in close control. Not to sneeze or cough. How to place each footstep so no twig broke and leaves didn't crunch. How to use natural sounds to mask my movement. It taught me that quiet is valuable. I spent a lot of time in solitude with only my thoughts as company. I learned to be quiet in speech.I often had little to say unless in the presence of my most intimate friends. I spoke softly. I listened to my own internal dialogue. But despite that quiet, there were always voices. Voices of the people who loved me, protected me, and nurtured me. And over the time of my life, one by one, these voices have been silenced. I remember when my Great Grandmother Lona died. My Dad consoled me by saying it was the way of things. The oldest generation precedes the younger. Or at least that's how we believe it should be. Then it was my Grandparents who passed. Then as if to defy the order of things, we lost David and my Father. We lost Rachel, the first of we 10 cousins. My dear Aunt Vester. After a long season, it was my Uncle Jack's time. And shortly after, our Aunt Fay. Then Uncle Jean. My Uncle's voice was so important to me because of the closeness he had with my Mom. With him gone, the loss was most noticeable because with Mother being almost a shut in, his calls and visits meant the world. She missed him very much. Now, this month, the most significant voice of my life was silenced. And I must say, the quiet is profound. I think sometimes, my ear strains a bit, without conscious effort, to pick up the sound of a voice or a noise. But the quiet persists.
But I am not depressed or dismayed. Those sounds may be gone but there are new sounds to be heard. Our little children have grown up. Some have found mates. Children are born. With time we get to reconnect with old friends and make new ones. I have the voices of Max and David. Becky has little Challis. There will be others to come.
You see, life is like a symphony. Each instrument adds its note in time. And when the piece is played, the instrument is stilled and there is quiet. It is a powerful and joyful thing. Something to celebrate.
But I am not depressed or dismayed. Those sounds may be gone but there are new sounds to be heard. Our little children have grown up. Some have found mates. Children are born. With time we get to reconnect with old friends and make new ones. I have the voices of Max and David. Becky has little Challis. There will be others to come.
You see, life is like a symphony. Each instrument adds its note in time. And when the piece is played, the instrument is stilled and there is quiet. It is a powerful and joyful thing. Something to celebrate.