Silence is the absence of sound, the lack of auditory vibrations traveling through the air. But this absence does not necessarily mean emptiness. Silence can communicate, can carry a weighted meaning, and can often transmit ideas and emotions of penetrating profundity.

I was a painfully shy child, sensitive and emotional - but the one thing I remember with crystalline clarity is the security and comfort I felt whenever I was with my mother. I was happy and content because of her - she made my life as normal as possible, and there was an absolute certainty that my mother would always protect me, always be there to hug and console me, and perhaps most importantly of all, would always understand me.

My mother seemed to possess an innate understanding not only of the power of silence, but also when it was important. She would quietly let me sit and play for hours at the piano and let me have countless hours of fun by myself (and later with my younger brother) as we created and acted out our different imaginary stories and scenarios, and had animated conversations with my stuffed animals as though they were real human beings. My brother and I were both avid readers and ever since I was five, she used to take us to the local public library every Sunday morning. She would sit there with us for 7 or 8 hours (until the library closed), as we consumed and read book after book. She always wrote down in a little notebook each and every book we read, what we thought about it, why we enjoyed it, and would ask us to rate it on a scale of 1 to 5. One day, after reading an adventure book, my brother and I become consumed with the idea of creating an imaginary world that involved defending the queen of the castle from various evil doers. I remember my mother quietly sitting at the dining room table as we jumped around the room, excitedly talking about all the different scenarios and possibilities. The next day when I came home from school, there was a pile of 20 to 30 empty boxes of different sizes. When I asked her what they were, she simply said, “I brought them home for you and your brother.” I still remember the indescribable glory and happiness of those next two weeks, as my brother and I cut up, colored, and painted those boxes and created the very castle that we had been talking about.

To this day, I marvel at how a first generation American and single mother was able to give my brother and I so much of her time while also running the household, taking care of all of my unusual music related activities and schooling, staying on top of my brother’s life and education, and running her own school in which she educated and influenced literally hundreds of other children. By nurturing me with her silence, my mother gave me a priceless gift - the freedom to be myself. She gave me the quiet I needed in order to think for myself, to formulate my own ideas, to choose my path in life, and to make my own mistakes along the way so that I could truly understand the learning process. On this mother’s day, I celebrate my extraordinary mother’s life, and the inspiration she continues to give me everyday.