I was recently wondering what it would be like to be a baby or a toddler, seeing the world but not having words to describe the world. I remembered the joy of a little boy I used to baby-sit, as he would run around the yard and holler out the names of objects he knew.
“Eaf!” he would scream, over and over, holding a brown, crunchy leaf in his little hands. Then he would run to the dirt pile. “Duht!” he proudly exclaimed. He named as many things as he could. But I wondered, “When will he learn that “tree” is made up of so much more? That it has leaves and branches and a trunk that has bark, and roots, but that there are different kinds of leaves and root systems and then he’ll need terms like ‘forest’ and ‘jungle’ and ‘deciduous’ and he’ll have to learn all the subtle nuances that go into knowing when to use “branch” and when it’s proper to say “twig”.” There are so many things that go into learning language, and we don’t often remember what it was like before. I don’t remember before I knew the words for the different types of dogs and could only happily tell my mom, “Doggy!” nor do I remember when I didn’t understand what ‘Uncle” meant because I couldn’t work out ‘the brother of my father or mother’ in my head yet. What is that like?
And then I found out a little bit what this is like, because this weekend robbed me of words. I don’t know how to express any of it. All I know is that I started crying when Leslie mentioned Toad from Super Mario Bros. and I started crying again tonight, even though I thought I was doing fine. I ate a Double Cheeseburger meal AND a Whopper (which was providentially provided via a mistake of the Burger King, Bangla Rd. employees- thanks!), effectively proving that I am the greatest emotional eater this side of the Mississippi.
And yet, I’ve found a great truth that has been pounded into me since the beginning of the Race. It’s one I fought tooth and nail (sorry, Caroline!)- the importance of community.
Words have failed me, but this community of 18 beautiful women has not. The community that I am in right now has rallied around us. I wasn’t at Burger King alone that night, crying into my fries (um, and onion rings). I was there with Marissa, Holland and Ashlee.
And tonight, when the tears silently flowed, Anna was coming with tissue papers before I’d even realized anyone could tell, gently patting my leg, reassuring me. I’m going to assume she was praying also (she usually is!) and that was comforting, too.
And when I was weirdly crying when Lesley mentioned Toad, she was holding my hand, brushing my hair behind my ear, loving me.
There have been offers to take me to the mall and let me sit as alone as I can without rules being broken. There have been notes on my bed when I wake up, and a Milka bar found its way into my hands from a pretty awesome lady. Hugs and smiles have come at all times of the day. And sometimes, just silently drinking coffee together with someone has been healing.
Maybe it’s not so bad being at a loss for words.
Because things like
love, comfort, and community–
these things transcend words, are beyond the realm of them.
When you’re surrounded by supportive community, the silence that comes when words are insufficient becomes a silence that isn’t lonely or deafening. It becomes a silence that brings peace and healing, a silence that is bearable, because words are no longer even necessary.
