There is a song entitled “The Sweet Sound of You” by The Paper Kites.  Part of the lyrics are sung – 

“When I’m on my own

I still hear the sweet sound of you

Echoes through the home

I still hear the sweet sound (sweet sound) of you.”

The night before our son moved into the apartment he would share with his new bride after their wedding, we went out to dinner one last time as just a family of four to commemorate this milestone.  Nick’s bedroom was packed.  There were boxes stacked in the corner of the dining room.  His walls were bare from pictures and shelving removed.  His closet mostly empty with just a few things left remaining that we would store for him here.  During dinner we talked and laughed.  The kids ate and showed each other funny things on their phones.  But I just sat quietly taking in the last few moments of our little family that would soon be changing and the ache of that realization.  Our son would be moving out of our home forever and living with us for the last time.  Our daughter couldn’t wait to transform her brother’s room into a hang out/study area, and to finally have the bathroom all to herself without sharing.  But I couldn’t bear the thought of him not being there.  I geared up for what the following night would bring with him being at his apartment and our first evening without him.  It gave me a stomachache. 

The next day entailed moving furniture, some shower gifts that Nick and Lily had already received for their new home, boxes, and clothes.  It was exciting and their new space was adorable.  They couldn’t wait to decorate and get settled in before Lily would move in after the wedding.  Together they decided where best the plates, bowls, and utensils would reside in the kitchen. They organized the closet; which side would be Lily’s and which would be Nick’s.  They placed a doormat outside on the front stoop.  It was shaping up nicely as the future home of Mr. and Mrs. Furtado.  But then came the inevitable.  The last of the boxes had been relocated to their new destination and it was time for us to leave.  I didn’t want to squelch Nick’s excitement, so I quickly hugged him and said goodbye.  He was exhausted and ready to call it a day after the big move in, so I didn’t want to linger and I certainly didn’t want him to see me cry.  Once I got home and made my way up the stairs, I took one look at Nick’s room and lost it.  It was so bare and it was so….quiet. 

Typically, I am in bed before my children, so I am used to hearing their individual sounds as I lay in my bed dozing.  And I always found their sounds to be so very comforting.  The way they open their bedroom doors.  The creaks in the floor telling me where they are in the house.  For Nick, I would hear him strumming his guitar, playing Xbox with his buddies, or the sound of hangers moving back and forth on the metal rod in his closet.  But, tonight, I heard nothing.  Not a peep.  Not a laugh or a yawn or any music.  Just silence.  And it was absolutely deafening.  The stillness echoed a blaring hush.  No noise meant no child.  And it wrecked me.  The tears started and wouldn’t stop.  My heart was aware that he was gone and that the silence was something that would continue to fill that room.  I wouldn’t hear the garage door alerting me that he was safely home and I could finally feel at ease.  I wouldn’t hear his singing and guitar playing lulling me to sleep.  I wouldn’t hear him yelling through his headphones to his friends playing video games with him.  I wouldn’t hear him call out “Mom” asking me where something was that he couldn’t find.  And it actually frightened me.  I didn’t want silence.  I wanted the sound of him.  I was becoming aware that pretty soon, our daughter would also be at the age of moving out and then what?  Double the silence?  I would once again have to shift into a new chapter of life.  And one I didn’t want to face.

As mothers, we are continually altering our roles and adjusting to the next phase of our children.  We go from the newborn stage, to toddlers, to teenagers, and adults.  With each new juncture we figure out how to modify our tasks, part, job…whatever you want to call it.  It is never easy and just when we think we have it down pat, a new phase begins and we once again have to figure out how to morph into our new mom role.  It can be exhausting and difficult.  Oftentimes, I am left unsure if I am getting it right, which adds to the uncertainty of the plight.  Right now, I am trying to embrace the silence, but the silence is hurting my ears. 

I keep playing in my head the sound of my kids laughing when they were little.  The slamming of the door as they would run in and out of the house in between grabbing a snack before resuming their outside play.  The TV blaring with their favorite shows.  The singing at the top of their voices the songs they would learn.  The banging of pots and pans in the kitchen.  Their friends coming over.  The splashing of either the bathtub or the pool in the backyard.  By the end of the day, I couldn’t wait for bedtime so that I could finally get some peace and quiet.  But, now, all I want is the noise.  I want my kids’ noise back. 

So, as I begin to embrace this next chapter of my life, I pray for direction and for the sadness of my heart to be replaced with gratitude.  I look to the future with hope of once again filling my home with happy sounds.  Of friends coming over to share a meal.  Of future grandbabies cooing and babbling.  Of family around the table for holidays.  Of laughter.  The noise doesn’t have to be gone permanently.  It will now just be more sporadic, coming and going with the seasons of life.  I can learn how to sit in the silence and find peace there.  I can listen and find new sounds to take comfort in.  I can think back on the wonderful memories of a once bustling and very loud household, and allow it to bring a smile to my face, remembering the sweet sound of you.