Finding peace amidst the noise

Silence had never bothered me. Typically I value it. In a house of 6 (my wife and I included) with twin 14 month old girls, a kindergartner, and a child who is deaf in one ear and therefore can be very loud, silence comes few times and far between. In my house someone’s usually fighting, or crying, or wrestling or singing, or crying after fighting or screaming at somebody else to stop singing. I’ve grown use to it.
Even growing up, my house was rarely silent. My father, insane about music, was usually singing, blasting his radio, woofing like a dog, or making noise of some sort. My mother, yelling at him to stop singing, turn down the radio, stop barking, added to the noise. Add in the Friday/Saturday, I just got paid, so I need to drink, alcoholism of my father and the noise often lasted well into the mornings.
And yet when silence befell me, I wasn’t prepared for it. Who could be? My father’s death, in many ways has left me, with only myself and silence. All the what ifs, maybes, should haves, didn’t get a chance tos, swimming in the silence. Silence was what I had always wanted, until I got it. Yeah, there’s been tons of phone calls, well wishes, prayers, hugs, cards, and food to help us cope…help me cope. But those sentiments fade away into the silence of his death. Sometimes all I can hear is my wife’s voice, somber, surreal, “Sedrick, baby, it’s your father…”. That same silence that I wanted so desperately as a kid, became the last thing I wanted as an adult.
What I wanted most was normalcy. And normalcy for me is noise. As a teacher, I deal with it for 7.33 hours per day. Someone’s arguing about a grade, some crisis in their life, something. When the school bell rings, its off to the grunts and screaming of soccer or lacrosse practice. Yelling at the refs. Yelling at the players. Yelling about something. Then home to hear about who sat next to who at lunch, whose talking behind whose back at Hopkins and some indistinguishable baby language other than the occasional “Mama”, “Da-dee” and the all new “Uh-Oh”. Noise to me meant that everything was okay. When my dad was barking, at least I knew he was there. When the silence came, I knew something was wrong.
My father liked noise. He seemed to live for it. In my mind, I had thought that someday I want to retire someplace quiet, just me and my wife and listen to the nothingness of life. Maybe I’ll get back to the place. But for right now, what’s helping me the most, is the noise. Silence may be golden, but noise represents life. Peace and Blessings.