By Marty Bulger
My favorite quiet was 2AM when I sat in the carved oak rocker with the round
caned seat holding my infant son warm against my body. The world around us was
dark and the street slept outside the window. The houses silent, drawn into
themselves, each holding their own secrets, their own worlds.
I was in primal mode, doing what I was created for. Having grown new life within
the quiet of my womb and I was now sustaining this life that I had created. So
natural, purposeful and intimate. Holy and private in the stillness of his room.
Latched onto my breast, eyes closed, hungrily sucking the nourishment my body
provided only for him. Sometimes his baby-soft hand reached up and gently rested
against my cheek. I felt our connection, our blending of blood, our need for one
another. He, totally in the moment. Me so very aware and overwhelmed at the
simplicity and complexity all at the same time. The quiet was filled with the sounds
of his sweet sucking, his little gulps of satisfaction.
I wanted this moment, this memory, to last forever.
It was my favorite quiet.