Kevin typically spent weekdays in our home on retreat: he structured his day praying, reading and writing.  He had reading goals, prayer goals, memorization goals, exercise goals and writing goals.  And he generally wanted the house quiet to foster his concentration. 

It wasn’t always total silence.  While Kevin was reading, on low volume he often played classical music, early Christian music (typical composers:  Giovanni Palestrina, Thomas Tallis, and William Byrd), or Gregorian chant. 

But when it came to praying, Kevin kept it silent.  And as for writing, silence helped him better hear his inner voice.

When Kevin was alive, I begrudged this silence in our home.  I was working at the office during the week and when I was finally home on the weekend with some time to myself, I wanted to catch up on programs I had missed:  Bloomberg News, 60 Minutes, National Public Radio, legal podcasts, Freakonomics (a podcast about behavioral economics), etc. 

We lived in a home with an open floor plan where sound carried from the first floor to the second floor and vice versa.  Playing anything on a speaker in the kitchen or living room, for instance, invariably carried to remote parts of the house.

We have all learned to accommodate other people, whether at home, work, church or other endeavor.  And one could listen to a program or music not through an entertainment system, but through earphones. 

However, it’s hard to practice yoga while wearing earphones.  And a program’s reception through earphones often faded out while I was in parts of the house where the wifi signal was weak.  Needless to say, I wasn’t happy with Kevin’s preference for quiet. 

Once Kevin was diagnosed with cancer, however, my perspective changed.  What changed was not my appreciation for silence, but my behavior.  No longer did Kevin have to tell me that he could hear me.  I kept the house quiet.  I wanted our home quiet for his peace. 

But I didn’t live in silence; I kept the noise going in my head.  What was different was that I became very careful to use earphones whenever I wanted to listen to music or a podcast. 

And since Kevin died, I’ve had the freedom to blare whatever I’ve wanted through the entertainment system.  Believe me, I’ve done some of that.  I’ve played James Brown, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Aretha Franklin, Billy Joel, Chanticleer, Alan Jackson, and Luciano Pavarotti (what can I say – I have diverse tastes). 

But I’ve listened to maybe a handful of podcasts since Kevin died.  I’m way behind on Bloomberg Law and 60 Minutes.  I just haven’t kept up. 

Instead, I’ve been living much more in silence.  Why?  Well, it’s in the silence that I can better hear my own mind, my conscience, and God’s leaning. 

One thing I’ve really needed during this new season without Kevin is a sense of direction.  And from where do I find direction?  I hope to find direction from God’s principles as outlined in the scriptures, as explained by people of faith, and as revealed in my spirit. 

But I can’t sense God’s leaning or nudges when I’m filling my mind merely with the latest economic or legal theories.  I’ve learned that I need quiet.  And when my home is silent, it’s amazing to me the depth of thought and feeling that arises.  It doesn’t always arise, but when it does, it’s a reward.

I can’t believe it took Kevin dying for me to appreciate the silence that Kevin wanted in our home.  Now I get it.  I only wish that I had gotten it while he was still breathing here on planet earth so that I could tell him I get it. 

Kevin tried to give me the gift of silence while he was alive.  I didn’t receive his gift; I put the gift on the shelf.  I unwrapped his gift after he died.