Key to Silence

Key to Silence


I'm sorry I yelled at you, buddy.

Funny.  I was so upset at having yelled at him that even my thoughts were quiet, as if they could wake him.

I would never yell at you on purpose, Ben.  As little as you are, I hope you know that somehow.  I was just so scared for you and mad at myself, that I just lost it a little.


The image of his little fingers holding my car key just inches from the electrical outlet still haunted me.  I just knew that the spark that would take him from me forever had been only moments away.

"NO!!!"

My shout had had the desired effect--Ben had dropped the key instantly--but the cost of his obedience had been almost as bad as the narrowly-averted tragedy.  His angelic little face had gone stiff with shock at the sudden sound, then transformed almost immediately into the face every parent knows and never wants to see.  I'd picked him up at once and clutched him to me, ignoring the ringing in my ears caused by his screams; how a child can cry so hard and so loud for so long and not damage its vocal cords is completely beyond me.

He was stiff as a board in my arms, by turns sobbing and wailing and screaming, and completely unwilling to be comforted.  I'd patted his back, shushed and soothed him with every bit of baby gibberish I knew, all to no avail; I was miserable.  Finally, just as a hard downpour will suddenly end, all available water having been wrung from the masses of clouds, his energy supply was exhausted and he fell asleep on my shoulder.


The sobbing little shudders eventually died away and the furrowed brow smoothed itself, and I felt the guilt begin to loosen its grip on my heart.  My son was safely, peacefully asleep.  I laid him in his crib and watched him for what seemed like hours, until all the fear for him and anger with myself had left me and I, too, was at peace.


Silence is a great healer.