Till We Are Home

It’s quiet in here today. Everyone left the house earlier and right now I sit alone with the howling wind outside. Lamps light up half of our living room, the refrigerator hums in the kitchen. All the cats and our dog sleep soundly in the silence.

I used to enjoy the quiet. To find alone time to focus on work or reading or whatever else. Those times were infrequent. Oftentimes, instead, noise filled the house.

Schoolwork. And usually tears associated with it.

Doors closing, laughter emitting, sometimes arguments hitting. 

I knew, though, that even if everyone else left the house, typically you’d be here. Well, the ‘you’ of fourteen years old. Maybe nowadays that wouldn’t be true. Maybe you’d have a job. Maybe you’d be out with your friends. Who knows?

But the fourteen-year-old you would be home. Basketball bouncing outside. A mix of Twentyone Pilots, NF, and others playing loudly on your speaker. Sometimes it was the piano coming alive. Sometimes it was the sound of paintbrushes clinking against glass to switch to the next watercolor. 

It was the noise of life. 

Now, in the silence, I don’t hear that familiar noise of life. The silence reminds me of loss. It reminds me that I lost you. That ponytail swishing and bouncing from side-to-side as you traipsed through the house. The snap of tape across your wrist, ready for gymnastics. The stone-cold face you kept through the house while I tried to tease you enough to crack it. (Occasionally, I’d get a smirk for my efforts.)

I’ve missed you so much, Isabel. I surely miss the simple things of you just being around. I miss, too, all the fun we had. Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about one particular memory. Do you remember the Daddy/Daughter Dance for Girl Scouts? Wasn’t that fun? 

It’s been a while since that night, you were in kindergarten then, so my memory is a bit fuzzy. I do recall, though, my beautiful daughters that night. Aby in her light blue dress, you (of course) in a pink dress. The scout troop wanted to make sure the night was special, so they found a unique and fun venue – an old inn from the turn of the century that then became the local jail but refurbished in the last several years to host parties and events.

Soon after entering, we took pictures together before we got all sweaty. Ushered into a small room off to the side, I sat down in a chair with Aby over one of my shoulders and you standing on the other side of me. What’s funny about that particular memory is you were standing over an air conditioning grate that kept blowing your dress upwards. I had to hold your dress so that it wouldn’t fly everywhere. In the picture, you can tell your dress is being pulled back – a funny easter egg from the night. 

We made our way upstairs, grabbed a few snacks along the way, then spent most of the time just dancing together. The music was loud, playing whatever pop songs of the day young girls enjoyed most. My favorite. What I remember most about that night…what my daddy’s heart remembers most, is getting the chance to just have fun with you and Aby. We didn’t care what the other girls and their dads were doing. We didn’t care that we could hardly dance. We just had fun. I watched my girls just laugh and dance and enjoy the night. I watched my girls do the water sprinkler. I watched my girls hop around and scream out. 

Carefree and full of joy.

I miss that about you. I miss my buddy that could let loose and not care what others thought. I miss the noise of that dance floor. I miss the noise of our home. That night was right around this same time in March…eleven years ago. Oh, how much has changed. 

Your brother has come home now. It’s not as quiet as it was, but it’s quieter than it used to be. 

You are missed, my little one. Missed by me, by your mama, your brother and sister. Your friends miss you…they did some very sweet things for your birthday. Your cousins and aunts and uncles miss you. Everyone at church, too. 

We miss you, darling. I miss you. 

Maybe the Lord will help us deal with the silence in our home. Maybe that’s just this next stage of life that came so much quicker than Mama or I thought it would. But I do miss the noise of life in here. I miss your particular symphony of sounds. 

I am so thankful that we had such a lovely home of noises. I am so thankful for those fourteen years of sounds from you. They were a gift. And I don’t doubt that the music you make now is unbelievable as you worship our Lord in His presence. One day I’ll join you. But for now, I’ll try and let the silence not bring me down. Instead, I’ll let it remind me of dance floors or you telling me to “stop” trying to break stone-cold faces or a myriad of other beautiful memories…

Till we are home…