Silence Before the Running Home

The silence in this room feels heavy, like a wall you have built to keep the danger out. But in the dark, silence can feel like rejection.

You worry that the ones you are trying to protect think you have turned away. That your quiet is a cold shoulder.

That they are alone because you chose to be still. But listen.

The light does not always speak to show it is present. Sometimes it stays quiet to hold the space.

There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off. He did not wait for a speech.

He ran. Before the apology, before the explanation—he ran.

Your silence is not a turning away. It is the breath before the running.

It is the gathering of strength so you can meet them with arms wide, not with empty hands. The love you carry is not measured by the noise you make.

It is measured by the fact that you are still here, watching, waiting, refusing to leave them in the dark. You are not rejecting them.

You are guarding the door so the light can find them when they arrive.