Listen.
Just that.
Listen.
How hard is that?
Why do so many have a problem hearing?
Someone somewhere identified it as a problem. The not-listening syndrome.
It hasn’t changed in 50 years.
Or maybe 200 or 2000.
At 5, a child was told by a girl, “I’m not going to be your friend anymore.”
The child heard her.
True to her word, she wasn’t the child’s friend anymore.
There were eight little girls in that kindergarten room.
One by one, they all separated from the child.
The day the last girl said, “I’m not going to be your friend anymore,” the child was crushed.
She went home to talk to her mother.
They had a ritual. Mom did dishes or some other task and the little girl told her the exciting news about school. Today was different.
Today, she was not excited. She hurt.
Mom listened. “Mmhhmm. Mhmm. Mhmm,” She said in all the right places.
Then the bombshell dropped. “And she said she wasn’t going to be my friend anymore.”
Mom smiled outwardly as she said, “Mmmhmm.”
Little girl saw. Little girl quietly understood. She just wasn’t important enough to be heard.
Mom wasn’t listening.
Rather than cry out, she stuffed in. For 2 decades she stuffed in.
She learned to write.
Sometimes it sounded good.
She tried to be heard through the written word.
She tried to be heard with speeches. Full attention of the crowd. Maybe someone would listen.
No one responded. Maybe they listened. Maybe they heard. But it was like the Mother at the sink, “Mmmhmm”.
She took blade to wrist and cut.
She drove her car in the ditch.
She beat herself over the head with a tire iron.
Someone saw her. Someone stopped. Someone took her to get help.
She was afraid to talk.
A minister entered and she longed to tell him.
She did not.
She left.
She moved.
The scene repeated itself.
This time, someone noticed.
She still would not talk.
She heard old messages; the stuff of sorrow. “Can’t trust that one with a secret.”
“Shut up!”
“Don’t say anything at church.”
“What’s a hysterectomy?” “Shhh, I’ll tell you later.” Later never came.
Third time…would have been the charm.
Catatonic now. The voices in her head listened. The demons threatened, hated, flayed her insides.
She touched the wallpaper. She touched the flowers. “Were the eyes there real?” She wondered. Someone noticed.
Beyond the catatonia, someone asked about the wallpaper. Someone noticed. Someone listened.
Little girl began to heal.
Today, she herself failed to hear. Failed to understand. Her wonderful friend needed someone to listen.
Scream. Silent, pain-wracked screams emanated from her being.
I’m sorry angel.
Please try to forgive me.
I’m here. Help me learn to hear more than the things in my head. Help me listen. Show me, tell me.
I love you, beautiful lady. …I’m listening.
