Practice listening

by Tami Rudkin
Wednesday, March 19, 2008 10:19 AM MDT

Are you a good listener? Do you hear what your kids are trying to tell you? Do you hear your friend when she is talking? Do you hear when your wife is telling you a story?

When was the last time you really listened to someone who needed you?

I read this story recently and haven’t been able to forget it.

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Don’t we all dread the phone call in the middle of the night?

Jolted awake, I focused on the red, illuminated numbers of my clock. Midnight!

“Hello?” My heart pounded; I gripped the phone tighter and eyed my husband, who was now turning to face my side of the bed.

“Mama?” the voice answered.

I hardly could hear the whisper over the static. But my thoughts immediately went to my daughter.

“Mama, I know it’s late, but don’t … don’t say anything until I finish. And before you ask, yes, I have been drinking. I nearly ran off the road a few miles back and … and I got so scared. All I could think about was how it would hurt you if a policeman came to your door and said I’d been killed.

“I want to come home. I know running away was wrong. I know you’ve been worried sick, and I should have called you days ago, but I was afraid.”

I paused and tried to think of what to say before I could go on, she continued.

“I’m pregnant, Mama, and I’m so scared!” the voice broke again, and I bit into my lip, feeling my own eyes full with moisture.

I looked at my husband, who sat silently mouthing, “Who is it?” I clutched the phone and stared at my husband, seeking guidance.

“I should have told you, Mama. But when we talk, you just keep telling me what I should do. All you do is talk. You don’t listen to me; you never let me tell you how I feel.

“It is as if my feelings aren’t important. Because you’re my mother, you think you have all the answers, but sometimes I don’t need answers. I just want someone to listen.”

“I’m listening,” I whispered.

“You know Mama, I want to take care of my baby; I want to do the right thing. I called a taxi. I want to come home.”

“That’s good honey.” I said, relief filling my chest.

My husband came closer, sat down beside me and laced his fingers through mine.

“I could probably drive now.”

“I know, but do this for your mama, wait for the taxi please.” I listened to the silence.

“Here’s the taxi now.” She hung up.

Moving from the bed, tears forming in my eyes, I walked out into the hall and went to stand in my 16-year-old daughter’s room. The dark silence hung thick.

My husband came from behind, wrapped his arms around me. I wiped the tears from my cheeks.

“We have to learn to listen,” I said to him.

“We’ll learn,” he whispered.

I let him hold me for several moments; then I pulled back and stared at the bed.

He studied me for a second and then asked, “Do you think she’ll ever know she dialed the wrong number?”

I looked at our sleeping daughter and then back at him. “Maybe it wasn’t such a wrong number.”

“Mom, Dad, what are you doing?” The muffled young voice came from under the covers.

I walked over to my daughter, who now sat up staring into the darkness.

“We’re practicing,” I answered.

“Practicing what?” she mumbled and laid back on the mattress, her eyes already closed in slumber.

“Listening,” I whispered and brushed a hand over her cheek. (author unknown)

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Listening is so simple. Turn off the TV, mute the radio, scoot away from the computer screen, put down the newspaper, close your mouth and look her in the eyes. It may keep her, or him, from walking away forever.

(Larry and Linda Kloster sponsor this column.)

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