After another short hospital admission things seemed to be back on track but unpredictability had other ideas.
When Dad woke up in his flat on Saturday his surroundings seemed unfamiliar. He was scared in an alien place and banged on the door to attract attention. He pressed the alert, it buzzed and soon a familiar face arrived to reassure him. When he saw his bed he remembered where he was and, slowly, his life began to fall into place once more. He asked someone to phone me.
Disorientation had given way to clarity by the time I arrived. He looked tired, the distress still evident. Unsurprisingly, he wanted to sleep for a while. A little later, hunger prevailed and I helped Dad get up. We sat side by side on the edge of the bed and he reflected on what had happened. Same as before you know, a while ago now.
Silence arrived with impeccable timing, its stillness welcome. A moment that was both comfortable and comforting as we tried to grapple with the latest episode. The futility of words realised.
The desire to fill silence is often too great for us. It is unfathomable and we fear it will consume us. Our inability to handle it makes us restless and weak and all too soon we give in, speaking when we ought to be hushed and listening; afraid instead of embracing and making space for the precious power within it to do its job; empathetic, gracious, healing, encompassing, majestic, dignified.
I came across this on Sunday. Perfect.
Voice: Still and Small by Roddy Hamilton
to hold and handle silence
is to hold and handle all of god:
the mystery that shapes us
with no word of explanation
the grace that frees us
with no line of limit
the love that names us
with no name yet understood
the shame that convicts us
that uses no word of blame
the pain that slows us
that speaks no word of shame
the question asked by us
that has not yet been formed
only in still small utter silence
is truth heard
to hold and handle silence
is to hold and handle all of god
at eighty-one 