Silence is as full of words as all your books (idea)
|She tiptoes softly into the room. She saw the wince upon your brow when you walked in. She noticed the hand pressed over the left eye, half closed. You are lying down upon the bed, briefcase tossed on the floor instead of placed in the closet. Coat carelessly flung over the back of the vanity chair. Shoes not even kicked off but still on. She doesn't chastise you for getting mud on the bed. She knows you are hurting.|
She hands you a glass of water and two Excedrin, kissing you on the brow when you gratefully look up at her. You don't have to say anything. She knows you are thankful. She places the glass of water onto the bedside table then turns to draw the curtains closed, darkening the room. She removes your shoes for you, hangs up your coat, takes your empty lunch bag out of your briefcase to bring into the kitchen, and then puts the case into the closet as well.
When she returns from the kitchen, she has a hot damp cloth to lay across your brow. She has always insisted this will relax some of the tension until the painkillers take effect. She draws a quilt over your body, then leaves the room as silently as she came in pulling the door closed behind her. You hear the music from the next room turned off within moments. You no longer hear the small indignant voices arguing over whose turn it is to pick the cartoon. You don't even hear the sound of the TV. You are surrounded by blissful silence and darkness. Already the headache becomes less intense.
You used to wonder what you had done to deserve her, this woman. You no longer wonder. She simply loves you. She shows you a thousand ways every day. It isn't the words she uses but the actions she takes. Actions as simple as drawing the curtains closed when the light hurts your eyes.