Sound Weaves the Tapestry of Our Lives

They echo in our hearts and help define us

Before we are born, sound surrounds us. We are soothed inside the womb by the rhythm of our mother's heart. As we develop we can hear the muffled sound of voices and music. A baby will recognize their mother’s voice even before birth.

We are affected by every sound we hear. How we react weaves the threads of the true us.

We will associate sounds with all the most significant events in our lives, both good and bad.

Hearing a particular sound will take us back to a memory of something that moved us, made us exquisitely happy or frightened us, and stopped us in our tracks.

It will move us forward with resolve and compassion. It can cause us to break down and give up.

As we progress through our life, our personalities are formed, and how someone uses their voice while interacting with us can cause great harm or contribute to our intelligence and how we will succeed, or not, in life.

A parent has such power and responsibility. The way they talk to their children and the other people involved in their formative years is monumental. Children should come with an instruction book.

The tone of your voice speaks volumes. Have you ever witnessed a parent, teacher, or coach say something negative and watched the child’s face and how they react? It is like something closes off, perhaps their heart.

The same thing applies when you witness someone speaking with encouragement and praise. The reaction will be a smile and a brightening of the child’s face. In this case, something just opened up in the child, and, yes, perhaps their heart.

We are affected by the tiniest of sounds even when we do not listen, or we do listen and are not aware that we are.

An example — a new mother, tired and sleeping soundly awakened, by the murmur of their baby before any real noise was made.

Sitting outside in silence are sounds unnoticed, the buzz of a bee on a nearby flower, a fish splashing in the pond, the rustling of a small animal in the grass, a nut dropped by a squirrel. They go unnoticed, but I believe they soothe us without our knowledge. We walk away relaxed with our mood lifted.

A few of my favorite noises are the spontaneous laughter of a small child, the voices of my sons and grandchildren, the sound of leaves gently moving in the trees, the calling of a crow, the neigh of a horse in a foggy field, and the answering meow of my cat as I call her.

Glorious music. It certainly defines us and paints a picture of our life. Our choice of what music we listen to may change through the years, but I believe it is a constant part of us.

If we have no other option, we find a way to make our own. Children will bang on pots and pans, impoverished people making musical instruments of thrown away pieces of this and that found in the local dumping ground.

We dance, we hum a tune we may have heard somewhere or one we make from an ache in our soul.

Music connects us.

How often have you heard someone sing or tell a story and find tears forming in your eyes?

How many songs are connected to special moments in your life?

The sounds of silence resonate deeper than any other and cause the most profound sorrow.

A question asked of the person you love, your spouse, your child, and it goes unanswered. You receive a blank stare, a shrug of the shoulders, or their back as they turn away from you. Ouch.

Sitting with my father ravaged by Alzheimer’s, his voice stolen from him. I held his hand, combed his hair, and sat next to him with so many questions unanswered. Why didn’t I ask them when he was capable of understanding and had the ability to answer?

What questions did he have that he could not ask?

To survive, my mother had to use life-sustaining oxygen, and the hiss of the compressed air, always her companion, went silent as she passed from us. The silence was deafening.

Now I listen to my husband and his burdened breath, coughing, and the phlegm in his throat. I wonder whether I will be there when only silence remains? Will I be there with him when he takes his last breath?

What will the silence sound like when he is gone?

What about the silent stares that say a thousand words.

The stare of hatred so many of our citizens experience every day because their skin is a different color, they speak a foreign language, have a disability, or they openly love someone of a different sexual orientation.

Ask the people on the other end of those hateful stares, and they will tell you the silence roared.

Life is a journey of thousands of words spoken and the reactions to them.

I wish I had written a journal from a very young age about all the words, the voices, and how they made me feel.

If I had done so and taken the time to read what I had written, would my life make more sense? Would I have been more able to talk about my reactions and feelings? Could I have learned more from my life and been a better person? Would I be wiser, a better mother, a better friend?

We go through life at a furious pace, and before we know it, so much is over, said, and done, and we cannot change what we might like to change. It is too late.

As I write, I wonder what my tapestry is. What pattern am I? Is it jumbled and messy? What would it look like if I painted a picture of all the squiggles and lines? What color would I be?

What is your tapestry?