When the World Fell Silent

by Donna Jones Alward

My grief had been soul deep.

I refused to let our situation overshadow the one pleasure I took each day:

We didn’t want much—just our family and a little security. That dream had sustained us, until it disappeared somewhere in France.

For a while I was numb. I wondered if I could have saved them if I’d been home instead of having fun; then alternately wondered if I would have died too.

As long as I had my baby, I’d be fine. The two of us could face anything… as long as we were together.

For the first time in my life, I truly understood what terror looked like through the eyes of another. They were the walking wounded, and they were everywhere.

I’d just straightened when the world fell silent, then a rumble shuddered beneath my feet and a terrible force pressed on my body, the blunt punch of it delivering me into blackness.

Men with haunted eyes. Women carrying children—God, the children. A numbness descended over me at the sight of them all, as if my brain couldn’t quite believe what it was seeing.

The weakness and unsteadiness persisted, though I tried not to show it.

“I’m afraid of what I’m going to find when I get home,” I confessed, my words shaking. “I’m frightened to death.”

“You are here and alive. You survived. And you will not be alone.”

Sad and grieving, but also afraid; yet in the midst of the destruction and loss I met people with purpose and a strange sort of optimism.

So much loss. So much grief.

Because I’d come to the startling realization that the child sleeping on my bed at this moment was not my daughter.

I’d thought love meant settling and perhaps even boredom, but the reality was so different. It was kindness and patience and steadfastness. It was knowing what the other person needed and doing it with a glad heart, not for any sort of reward other than love itself.

“I thought I understood what love was, but now I know what it’s not. It’s not being swept off my feet and romanced, not about being reckless. It’s about being with someone who sees you at your worst and loves you anyway. Who knows what you need and gives it unreservedly.”

“And if you like, I’m going to help you, Alice. You’re the only family I’ve got. Maybe we can rely on each other. Maybe even make a new home.” A warmth expanded in my chest as I said, “You know, I always wanted a sister.”