“You’ll be hearing a moment of silence”
What a customer service representative reminded me about loss and healing
I was on the phone recently with the customer service department of a big company. The woman on the other end of the line was very nice and trying earnestly to resolve my concerns.
At one point in our conversation, she needed to put me on hold to ask her supervisor a question. As she did, she said something that immediately struck me as rich with inadvertent wisdom; like an accidental challenge for me to forget my petty customer service issue and reflect on the pain of the human condition. “You’ll be hearing a moment of silence,” she told me, and then I was alone on the phone.
“You’ll be hearing a moment of silence.” Simple and straightforward. I knew what she meant. There would be no on-hold music while she did her research. She didn’t want me to think I’d been disconnected, which is exactly what a lot of us fear when we encounter silence in our lives. Being disconnected – whether from the latest information and intrigue or from the pleasant distractions that keep us from facing our deepest fears – can leave us feeling naked, alone, and vulnerable.
Many of us are so eager to avoid that sense of disconnection that we’ve created lives of near-constant noise, with silence the enemy and silence-fillers our protectors. 24-hour news cycles, social media, 500+ channels of cable TV, satellite radio in our cars, audio books, GPS systems that speak to us, smartphones that are practically attached to our bodies, and digital assistants with pleasant voices that play our music, tell us the weather, and answer our questions. Anything but silence. Anything to prevent feeling disconnected.
If silence-fillers are the rug under which we can sweep all our doubts and fears, then silence is that thing that rips the rug out from under us. Silence shines a light on the dust bunnies of our minds and the boogey men of our psyches.
The loudest silence
Never is the silence as loud as when we’ve lost someone dear to us. The void can be deafening. We miss their voice, we miss their laugh, we miss the sound of them getting ready in the morning. We even miss the little noises they made in their sleep. All that silence just makes us feel even more alone; disconnected from them and from the life we used to know. It doesn’t help when you look around and see everyone else’s still-noisy, still-connected lives moving on as if unaware that yours has been silenced.
And we’re not really talking about just a moment of silence, are we? The moment quickly turns into hours, then days, then weeks, months, and years. I suppose in a lot of ways the silence never really ends.
We live in a society that likes to ignore the reality and inevitability of loss. So when the silence comes (as it does for everyone in one way, and at one time, or another), our reaction is often to fear it, fill it, or run from it. We call a friend, blast some music, or turn the TV on just to have some sound in the background.
Don’t get me wrong, sometimes that’s the healthiest thing you can do. After all, as social creatures, seeking connection (or even the slightest hint of it) is hardwired into our survival instincts. Our brains are programmed to view disconnection as a threat, and if silence makes us feel disconnected, than silence itself becomes a threat. So by all means, after experiencing a loss, seeking connection with others (people or pets) is an incredibly important, even necessary, part of healing and learning to live in a new reality.
In praise of silence
If you ask me, silence is also a necessary part of healing after loss. Silence is both the pain and the relief; the symptom and the medicine. Inside the void, if we can muster the courage to sit in it, we may actually find comfort, renewal, and even connection. I know that talking about connection within silence may sound like a cruel contradiction, but in my experience, the silence allows me to feel more connected to myself and those I’ve lost. It’s in the silence that I can connect to the love and the pain in my heart. In the silence, it’s easier to imagine my loved ones, remember, laugh and cry at the memories. In the silence, it’s easier to talk to my loved ones. As hard as it is, these are the connections that bring about true healing.
My invitation to you – find the balance
Silence is the yin to the noisy yang of our lives. Learning to balance the cacophony we create with the silence we need is a constant high-wire act. Too much of either and we can find ourselves desperately grabbing onto something as we begin to teeter on the tightrope.
Here are some ways to begin experimenting with silence (I’m sure you can think of dozens more):
Meditate
Stare at the stars
Write in a journal
Do something creative
Go on a silent nature hike
Sit and watch the snow fall or the creek flow
Do the dishes or the laundry withoutturning on the TV or stereo
Do your errands without listening to the radio or talking on the phone
Get up early and watch the sunrise (this is my personal favorite)
I don’t think you need monk-like devotion to silence in order to benefit from it. Again, it’s all about balance. So start small with some of these ideas (or, better yet, some of your own). Just make little moments of silence throughout the day; moments to test the waters and listen to the silence. Then, return again to the silence-fillers, embrace the noisy distractions, and foster your connections with others. As you get more comfortable with silence, you may choose to add even more moments into your days.
You may even come to look forward to the silence and what you hear in it.
About the author
Dave Wyner is a Licensed Professional Counselor, National Certified Counselor, Certified Clinical Trauma Professional, and Certified Grief Counseling Specialist with a practice in Louisville, Colorado called A Path Forward Counseling. He’s passionate about helping people rebuild their lives and thrive again after painful losses or traumatic experiences. His abiding desire is to help people affected by trauma and grief tap into their own strength, courage, and resilience in order to find meaning and purpose in their lives. In addition to traditional office-based counseling, he also offers equine-assisted psychotherapy with a herd of six horses at a small, private ranch. In his spare time, Dave enjoys hiking the beautiful Front Range with his wife and dog, nature photography, and catering to the two cats who graciously allow him to live in their house.