BB hangs in there, as he taken to reading by himself or writing in his journal. He is also always asleep by 7:30pm--whether he is in bed or not, his mind is asleep by 7:30pm
LP has a fairly regular sleep routine. A bath every other day or as needed, pajamas, some milk, a book or two, cuddle and bed.
EG, would like a Broadway musical before she falls asleep, please.
A book. One more book. I need to arrange my stuffies (stuffed animals). Would you hand me the monkey? Arrange my pillow? Sing me a song? PRAYERS? Please lay next to me!
If something on her list is missed, or skipped, or ignored,or if you simply give up and walk out of her room...she will come find you. Countless times in an evening we will hear the tell tale footsteps of Miss EG coming down and through the entry hallway.
I'll be honest, if there is some reason she is unhappy with her bedtime routine it is usually because I am DONE with them for the night. I have skipped or ignored or left her request because she has made TOO MANY of them in any given hour and I need to move on with my evening.
Tonight, everyone was tired. We had been traveling and no one slept well the night before. BB went right to sleep. LP, too. EG spent sometime quietly arranging her stuffies in her bed and I figured she would fall asleep as she sat in bed.
After I had unpacked the suitcases, put a load of clothes in washing machine and had just sat down to look at my news feed on Facebook, there she was at my side. Her hot breath huffy on my cheek.
"Mommy, you didn't read me a book, yet."
Crossly, "EG go upstairs and I'll be up there."
"MOMMMMY." screams, and way over-the-top crying ensues.
"Go! Up. Stairs."
And I turn to look at my newsfeed, listening for footsteps up the stairs.
Then I see an item. News I knew was coming. News that stabs at many of my friends heart's. And, so, mine broke.
A five year old girl died today. She had a brain tumor and been living with it for over a year. While I honestly give thanks for her peace tonight, I ache for my friends who are close to this family. My friends who have stood on the sidelines with her parents-cheering, bolstering, listening, holding and suffering. A new part of the journey has now begun.
"EG, come here please."
tears streaming down her face, she returns to my side. Her hot sweaty face looks up at me and I give her a big hug. At first she isn't really interested, but then quickly snuggles in.
"What book do you want to read?" I stand up and push my chair away from the computer, and take her hand. We walk up the stairs. In the hallway, I call BB to come join us in EG's room and he sleepily stumbles in. He hops on the bed, tossing a few stuffes up into the air and out of the way, in the process. EG grabs her blanket and hands me a book about a dog who learns to read from a bird.
Snuggled in beside each of them I'm aware of the heaviness within me, but I also note how this particular grief is too sad to bear log. As with much grief, empathy is difficult to fake. Until you've lost, it is a struggle to tap into another person's experience. truly. This grief, the unnatural order of life, is pain most people don't want to go near, our hearts and minds almost won't let us.
I finished the book and BB hopped back off the bed. EG snuggled down into her fort of friends and I tossed a sheet over her. "Not the blanket, Mom. It gets too hot."
I listened to her direction and leaned in for a hug.
As I left her room, she called out..."Good Night, Mama, See you in the mornin'."
"I love you EG."
"I love you, too."
I gave thanks that most nights this is how she and I end our conversation for the day.
I prayed it would ever be so,
and I prayed for those whose bedtimes are forever changed.
2 comments:
I love your writing.
Yep. Me too.
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