Yesterday as Jigger slept I lay there watching him. His even breaths as his chest rose and fell with each inhalation. For whatever reason I was feeling a bit nostalgic. I thought about all of the silent hours that pass between the two of us each day. We work together in our own business from home. Yet probably less than ten words a day ever pass between the two of us especially if we're busy working on a project. Even if there is no project, he's off in his world and I'm floating around mine. There is more silence that passes between us than syllables, but yet neither of us is uncomfortable. Neither of us feels that need or urge to fill the void with idle noise. We both are comfortable in the silence that lies between the syllables, consonants, and vowels. Don't take this the wrong way. We talk everyday. But we also sit in silence everyday as well. Every word spoken has a purpose, a meaning. Even if the meaning is to share a laugh or moment of happiness, sadness, or thought. Regardless of the meaning, the meaning and purpose still exists. Jigger and I don't spend much time on idle words. We don't speak for the sake of filling the void.
What is strange is that this silence causes those around us to become nervous. They interpret our silence as anger. They ASSume we are angry at each other and that's why he and I don't speak to each other. There was a time when his family attempted to fill the void believing I was uncomfortable in the silence. However after four years they've come to realize I prefer the silence and have stopped trying to fill something I don't consider empty.
So as he lay there, sleeping, inhaling and exhaling. I thought about how fortunate I am to have someone who is comfortable in my emptiness. So who can ebb and flow with my waves. Who doesn't try to harness me but instead tries to bend to accommodate me. For all the little things I get frustrated with, in reality I am very blessed and very fortunate to have someone like him. I often times become so absorbed within the moment of the here and now that my focus becomes very narrow. I see only that tiny fraction of space that is right in front of me. If there happens to be a crack in it, then I forget about all of the area around me that isn't broken. I instead focus on that tiny space that isn't perfect. I realized there in the silence of his sleep I need to stop viewing the world through such a narrow lens. I need to remember there is more than the space in front of me. There is more than the moment I'm in. I need to remember that even though he bends he can still break and to be gentle with him.
Sometimes more can be said with silence than a thousand words. I need to remember to stop and listen more often.