In The Silence

It was comforting to hear your voice. On the days I didn't see you, we talked. The number to the hospital, to your room, was a lifeline. One evening, I called. I pictured you in the isolation unit that had been your home for over a month. You were getting stronger; your blood counts were coming back, slow but sure. Hopefully, you would be coming home soon. As we talked, I stretched the long phone cord out the door and sat outside on the step.

It was nice that day. The sun was shining and it was around dinner time. We talked about how you were feeling. You asked about the kids and how my day was. There was a pause in the conversation and you spoke, "What's that sound?"

I wasn't sure what you were talking about, then realized you must have been hearing the birds singing.

"It's the birds. I'm outside on the deck."

Then it hit me. I pictured the sealed, heavy plate glass windows in your room. You hadn't heard birds singing for nearly 6 weeks.

I turned the receiver away from my cheek and grew silent. Together we listened in a moment of intimacy that neither of us wanted to end.