|My father in the 1940's|
When my son left for college he took the sounds of our home with him. The constant singing, humming, giggling between siblings and simple sounds of youth slipped out the door with him. My daughter and I tried our hands at the guitar and ukulele and realized that stringed instruments were just not our thing. I was thankful for her endless energy and took refuge in her tumbling and leaping down the hallways that, too, was a constant in our world.
I longed to hear the sounds of the guitar strumming in the middle of the night or the mumble of singing coming down the hall. I missed the kids creating videos and recording songs. Allie had been the star of every video ever made in our house and then suddenly the set was closed. The cameras had stopped. The songs didn't play and life was simply different. It wasn't bad, it was just different. We found our way around in this quieter world and accepted what was.
And then when the silence was no longer bearable, God moved His hand and delivered my nephew to my doorstep. He arrived with guitar in hand and song on his heart. As much as he needed us, we needed him. New songs filled our home and constant sounds were a part of our world again. The piano plays softly in the far end of the house and while Allie leaps down the hallway, my heart leaps with joy.
I still wait for the songs of my child to return, but am thankful for the young man sent here when I most needed a joyful noise.
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