I wander the house, everything looks different with a baby in my arms, attached to me by this sling. I gaze at all the things that made up life before I came into this land, everything looks the same and yet will never be the same again. I put things down, I adjust books on shelves, I take dishes out of the dishwasher, I eat some porridge and still the silence deafens me. Who am I here and now?
The bomb has gone off, the dust still settles. Today is the first day of a new routine, a new world, new friends and new places to go. Fears swirl around as to when to go out, how far to venture. My body, still aching from the trauma of the explosion, itches for more but wisdom tells me to rest. I read the old old words that have held me so far in this world and tears well and slowly drip down my cheeks. How can we sing the songs of the Lord in a foreign land? And this land feels so foreign. Who is He here? Who am I here?
I feed our son. I hold him close. He snuffles into my chest and stares deeply into my eyes, studying my face as if to say: ‘Who are you?’ ‘What am I doing here?’ I echo his concern, his worried frown and I wonder at how normal yet strange this feels. This flesh of my flesh, this being created and grown within me, this new world in my arms.
This silence is too loud.
I find there is time to think, the ringing in my ears has stopped, time has slowed to normal again and I find there is a life to be built here. Slowly but surely. The urge to stare at familiar voices on the computer screen has dimmed. The all consuming consumption of West Wing has stopped and I no longer need CJ, Toby, Josh, Leo Josiah, Charlie, Abby, Donna and Sam to console me. Martyn Joseph still plays on the computer in front of me. Lyrics that threaten to undo me help shape this new place: “There’s still a lot of love round here, still a lot of love, still a lot of love round here…” “This house is dark, lets find a window.” “Whoever it was that brought me here, will have to come and take me home.”
Friends come and go, chocolate is eaten, tea is drunk, I read some of a book and am reminded that I can read, that some things haven’t changed in this new world I face. The warm body still rests on mine and I wonder what tonight will bring. Long term feeding or sleep? Frustrated cries or contented sighs? The washing murmurs in the background, for now the boy sleeps and I reflect on the day.
I write. This is me. This is who I am. I write. I breathe. I love, I am loved. The songs of the Lord are still here in this foreign land. For now in this moment there is hope.