Deja Vu

I remember vividly what it was like to wake my mother up at night when I had a bad dream. I'd make the dreaded trek out of my bed, sneaking through the dark, scared so bad I could barely move, but the idea of comfort from my mother outweighed the threat of whatever could get me in the shadows. Then I'd get to my mother's bedside. The fear almost overtook me, and if it weren't for the intense desire for the world to go back to normal, I would have stood next to that bed all night.

Reaching out a trembling hand and calling as softly as I could, I'd touch my mother gently until she woke up and asked what was wrong. Just to hear her voice made my world of fear disappear. I'd get a hug, I'd be told everything was all right, and then I'd be sent back to bed.

That happened often, and I still remember quite a few of those dreams and the terror I felt. But getting to my mother was worth all the fear I felt along the way.

This brings me to early this morning. For the first time ever, I was woken up very gently by a small hand touching my shoulder. When I rolled over, I saw Jeriah just standing there looking at me, really uncertain. When I asked him what was wrong, I felt that familiar feeling of comfort of when I went to my mother, only this time it was me doing the giving. I was so glad I could be that mother for my son.

The only difference was it wasn't a bad dream that brought him to me. He had been wearing a strip of medical tape on his thumb to help him remember not to suck it, and the tape had come off. He'd been trying to get new tape and put it on himself, but he didn't know how. Even though it wasn't a bad dream, I felt his immense relief when I gave him a hug and told him it was ok, he didn't have to wear the tape as long as he didn't suck his thumb, and to go back to bed.

And being on the other side, being the mother, now I know how my mother felt.