One of the most difficult and unexpected things I’ve had to cope with in this grieving process is getting used to the quiet, the deafening quiet.
I miss the groans he emitted as he arose from his chair or sat down again – or as he loudly clomped up the basement stairs after getting a can of something from the larder. I miss hearing the deep timber of his voice as he called the cat “Dumbhead” when she sat staring into the yard after he’d opened the door for her to go outside for the umpteenth time that day. I miss him calling out for me to find something he was looking for (that was usually in a very obvious place). I miss the sound of him singing along to his favorite songs while he played air guitar, or swearing when something didn’t work correctly on his computer, or mumbling to himself as he tried to fix something. I miss the sound of him banging cupboard doors and dropping things. And – most of all – I miss the sound of him snoring softly next to me in bed at night.
Read more of Hope For Widows Community Blogger Katherine Palmer, The Writing Widow blog entitled, ‘The Sounds of Silence’ here—-> https://hopeforwidows.org/2018/06/the-sounds-of-silence/
