A Moment

A Moment
(written when my son was about 16)

The sound in the middle of the night—it has been a long time, years, but the old instincts are still there.  I, who sleeps through alarm clocks and electrical storms, am instantly wide awake at one sound from a room down the hall:  “Mom!”

It is very, very dark at 3 A.M.  The moon that bathed our bedroom in its light at midnight has moved on.  I find a robe by my sense of touch and pull it on as I am moving down the dark hallway.

The moon is shining into his room and there is no need for electric light.  I have answered this call so many times.  A skinny little guy with tousled hair used to be sitting up in bed telling me he had had a bad dream.  But that was a long time ago.  Bad dreams are gone and so is that little fellow.

In his place is this incredibly long creature, stretching to every last inch of his extra-long bed.  Awake, during the day, he towers over me.  Now, big as he is, he looks somehow fragile.  During the day, he drives a car, plays football, has a part-time job, goes out with girls—but just now, it is the middle of the night and he has an upset stomach.  I bring him the Pepto Bismol and sit with him a few minutes.  He remembers then how big he is and tells me he’s OK, to go back to bed.

I go.  But it was kind of nice, while it lasted.