noise

There is so much noise lately.

It comes from every direction.

No one told me being an adult is so hard on the senses.

I’ve found myself complaining of headaches and backaches and neck aches a lot lately.

I think it’s from the noise.

Even when I turn everything off, it’s still in my head. So loud.

The noise is loudest when it’s quiet, I find.

During the school day when teenagers are being teenagery and in the evening when a preschooler is being preschoolery and a toddler is being toddlery, the noise isn’t so loud. It’s drowned out by immediacy of life.

But in the quiet of my planner period, my commute, my quiet time lying with Eddie while he falls asleep, my head fills with it.

Noise.

Static.

Yelling and shouting and vying for attention.

Anger and frustration and joy and excitement and overwhelm and worry and pride and anticipation and grief.

Oh the grief.

Memories are loud.

They scream in your heart and make you feel all over again the things you thought were past and gone and not coming back.

The pain, the writhing, the labor for…empty arms, empty heart.

Grief is the loudest of the noise.

Scratching and tearing demanding to be the center and then just sitting there in the middle of it all like dead weight.

Resurfacing to drown me.

The noise is so so loud when you’re an adult.

I want to go back to that warm place of being a child where the noise of the adult world is so far above me, it doesn’t make it to my ears or heart.

That place with dinner waiting on the table, two parents tucking me in, and no note of death or pain or worry in my ear.

I want the safety and silence of childhood back.

Because being an adult is too loud.

It hurts too much.

In honor of Infant Loss and Remembrance Day, I lit my candle for the two I have in heaven (snuggled there next to a picture of their little brother, Eddie) and for my niece, Bella. Who went home too this past week.

In honor of Infant Loss and Remembrance Day, I lit my candle for the two I have in heaven (snuggled there next to a picture of their little brother, Eddie) and for my niece, Bella. Who went home too this past week to be held in the arms of her Papa Steve in Heaven.

***Updated (9:21am 10/16/13)*** I just got word that Arabella Elizabeth Sluiter was delivered at 2:20am this morning weighing 1 lb, 3oz. She will always be loved and remembered.

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About Katie

Just a small town girl...wait no. That is a Journey song. Katie Sluiter is a small town girl, but she is far from living in a lonely world. She is a high school English teacher, college adjunct instructor, freelance writer, mother, and wife. Life has thrown her a fair share of challenges, but her belief is that writing through them makes her stronger.

Comments

  1. Grief is so loud. It takes over all of your senses and drowns out the other, good noise in your life. We can only hope that the sound mutes a little to give us some space. Beautiful words. xo

  2. I have not experienced the kind of deep grief you have, but I want you to know that I’m holding you in my heart. I hope that with the support of your family and all the love you have, the noise will die down. xo

  3. Kelsey Posma says:

    the devil works best in the quiet. we are most vulnerable in the quiet. when i find myself overwhelmed by noise, i find it helpful to pray, or sing a hymn in my head. i will be praying for you friend. so much love.

  4. Love you. xoxo

  5. I’ve been thinking about you and your family. There are no words that I can offer to help ease the grief that you’re feeling right now. Know that I am sorry for your loss and will continue to keep you in my thoughts.
    Hugs.

  6. Life is loud. I feel the same way sometimes – asking for quiet, looking for it. We need to invent existential ear plugs.

  7. Oh, Katie. This is beautifully written, and heartbreaking in its truthfulness. Grief is a screamer, and it doesn’t let you have peace, does it?

    Much love.

  8. I was just saying this to John, about how loud our life is. How everything is coming at us at light speed and we have no time to process it or sink down into anything…good or bad.

    this was beautiful my friend. Sending love and hugs to you right now, whispering quietly…I’m here.

    xoxxo

  9. Grief is one heck of a noisemaker. I’m sorry for your family and for you. Hugs and prayers!

  10. Oh Katie. That damn grief. If only there were a way to mute it. Thinking of you and your family and hurting for all the grief you’ve experienced recently.

  11. Yes. Oh how I get this. The stillness of adulthood is so very loud.

    Love to you.

  12. Hugs and love and much strength to you and your family, my friend. So sad for your loss.
    About the noise – when I get too overwhelmed with it I just let it wash over me until it subsides. I just surrender. It seems that as long as I try and fight it, it just keeps getting louder.

  13. I so, SO get this. My loudest noise has always been regret. I’ve found though that by giving it a voice and letting it out that it loses some of its power and strength. The very thing you think you should not do, acknowledge it, is the very thing you should do.

  14. Katie, you and your family are in my thoughts and prayers. I know this must be a difficult time for all of you. xo

  15. Katie, I’m so so sorry. I had what they call and “early” miscarriage I guess and I never thought I would hurt and think of it years later like I do. Hugs to you and your family! xxxx

  16. I avoided the infant loss stuff yesterday because everything IS so loud and overwhelming and I just couldn’t force those memories and that grief back in. I know this that you are writing of, though it is not as immediate for me as it is for you. So I am sending you my love and prayers for a little Peace and a little Quiet from the One who can grant it when it doesn’t seem possible. xo

  17. I am so very sorry that your heart’s been hurting so much.
    Questions without answers, riots instead of peace.

    I hope the quiet finds you soon.
    Until then, I’ll just whisper this: “You are not alone.”

    XO

  18. My heart. I know this noise. It is deafening. The last few weeks the noise in my head and the ache in my heart has been growing and growing. I know there is nothing anyone can do to fix it but you are not alone. XOXO

  19. This was so beautifully written. I’m so very, very sorry.

  20. What a beautiful post. My heart is with you. xo

  21. This is a beautifully written description of the noise. Oh, the noise. It always hits me in the silent alone-ness of the car. Always.

  22. Hugs to you and- hopefully- a brief respite from the noise.

  23. Thinking of you and your family, Katie, and sending wishes for peace to take the place of the noise.

  24. Grief is WAY too loud. This is a beautiful post, Katie and I’m sure very difficult to write. Much love to you. xoxo

  25. I have chills. And love, that I am sending your way. I’m so sorry. xoxo

  26. Life is loud. Sometimes the noise level is deafening. And yet, even when the feeling of deafness washes over you, you can still hear the roaring.

  27. I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m at a loss for words, but sending love and hugs.