Wednesday, November 12, 2008


I was on my own to wrastle the short people into bed tonight. The Missus had a class to attend. The boys were just too tired for words. So they mostly screamed. But they ate their dinners and took their baths and by seven they were off in dream land.

I got to spend an hour with just Miss O. I haven't had any time just for her since we used to go on dates, Saturday mornings. We talked and went through the routine. We read and drew and prayed and snuggled. Then I went downstairs and sat at the kitchen table reading a novel. My brief period of escapism and corn chips was interrupted by Her Royal Sweetness sneaking down the stairs.

I knew there was somebody coming down but it wasn't sneaky enough to be one of the boys. It didn't seem like a big emergency until I asked her what was wrong and she burst into tears. She had been just laying in bed, sugared up on Halloween candy and thinking, singing to herself quietly. Then she had a thought about me being dead. I hugged her and said some soft thing to her. Looking back I'm surprised I wasn't having, "What the hell do I do?" thoughts at the time.

When she calmed down she asked if there was any spaghetti left from dinner and we sat at the table munching for a while. She told me she has dreams sometimes about me being in the army and dying. And then she sees me again, even though she knows she really can't, but it's like I'm not really there. The terror seemed to have passed though and I tucked her back into bed with another prayer and a few extra I Love Yous.

Then I stood staring in the kitchen for most of an hour.

The thought that finally jogged loose was of a moment I had one night when it was just Miss O and me. The Missus was out of town and the boys weren't around yet. Miss O was all snug in her bed and I had the paralyzing thought, "What if I die in my bed tonight?" I spent five tearful minutes in my dining room imagining what she would do in the morning before I finally shook it.

The Missus is home now. I'm happily laying down this train of thought.

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1 comment:

  1. poor baby. poor daddy. don't die.


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