Six Months Later, Silence Sounds Different
Six months later, our house is still loud in the ways babies make houses loud.
But the silence feels different now.
Keane volunteers twice a week at a sensory play center.
It’s not glamorous.
It’s textured mats, soft lighting, predictable routines, kids who need calm adults.
In other words: a place where Keane makes sense.
Owen adores him.
He lights up when Keane walks into the room.
He relaxes when he hears that familiar humming.
And Owen’s first word wasn’t “Mama.”
It wasn’t “Dada.”
It was:
“Keen.”
I laughed and cried at the same time, because of course it was.
Of course the baby would name the person who made him feel safe.
I don’t think I’ll ever hear silence the same way again.
Because sometimes silence isn’t emptiness.
Sometimes it’s a language you haven’t learned yet.
And sometimes, a whisper is enough to change everything.
“He likes the humming.”
I like the way we found each other again.
As siblings.
As family.
As people who finally felt heard.
