I’m Scared

“I’m scared,” he said as he crept downstairs again clutching his stuffed raccoon.

It seems like he has been saying this every night for seven years.

I want my time. I want to watch Netflix, eat snacks, and just rest in my chair. I want adult time.

So I say, “Go upstairs! Tuck yourself in! It’s past your bedtime!”

But he starts crying and I notice he is holding his breath and he sits crunched up on the floor.

I know I’m wrong. I know better, but I’m so tired.

I say, “Let’s go,” and walk with him upstairs.

He crawls into bed and I give him some tissues to blow his nose.

I don’t talk much. I tuck him into the covers and rub his back. I sit beside him until he starts to breathe heavily, until I know he is sleeping. I still rub his back. I rest my hand on his shoulder.

I sit on his bedside and realize, “I’m scared,” means “I need you.” He can’t explain why he is scared. He doesn’t have to explain, he just needs me there. I’ll be there forever.

Maybe I need him more. I stay long after he is asleep. Sitting in the dark and thinking about the lessons he teaches me, on how to care and love, unconditionally. Now I’m the one scared of that day he doesn’t need me.

I get into the warm bed and snuggle him. My thoughts wander to my own childhood. He’s the one that made me a mom, but sometimes I feel like a child too. I feel his rhythmic breathing on my back. It’s peaceful. I wish him peace in life, but know it’s not like that is it? Our home is safe, comforting, and fun. But he still gets scared. He still needs me. I still need him too. He teaches me that when I feel there is not much more of myself to give, there is a whole lot more. There is love and there is caring and tenderness and all it takes is tucking in a scared little boy and climbing into bed with him just one more night. Because, maybe tomorrow will be the day he doesn’t need me and then I’ll need him. Goodnight beautiful. Sweet dreams.