It’s 1:00 am on a warm summer night. 

I’ve only been asleep for 90 minutes and I’m snatched from my beautiful deep sleep. I was finally in my dreamland where everything is peaceful. Where I rest and renew to have enough for the following day. The one place where I usually don’t remember my husband is dead.

My oldest boy is coughing. I had to handle this, take care of him, make everything all
better. It could be the start of something bad, hopefully it wasn’t. It could be Covid. It might be absolutely nothing.

It was hard to get up. I felt the deepness of my sleep in me like a weighted blanket holding me down, urging my body to stay still. I didn’t want to move. I hesitated. Can I? Should I? Do I have to get up? Yes.

My baby needs me. I can do this. I sit up, willing my body to move, to get up and be awake. The next thought in my now conscious head is, ‘and here’s another one Grant’s not here for.’ Getting up in the middle of the night to help care for his kids.

He just has a summer cold.  Cough syrup does the trick. My sweet boy hugged me and said, “You’re the best mom. I know you didn’t want to get up, but you did anyway and that makes you the best mom ever. I love you.”

Yeah, this is a beautiful mom moment. A little boy who sees me for a moment, not just as his mom. He knows. He acknowledges me, my tiredness, my humanness, and my love. He’s 11. He’ll be alright. His heart is so good.