We hear the padding feet, and we know it’s Noise. Not because Noise is the one in need– as the big brother, it is ALWAYS Noise who comes. To tell us the baby is crying, to tell us Funk is coughing (shocker.)  In fact, I would say that MOST of the time it isn’t Noise. This time it isn’t Noise.

It’s Funk.

Hubs goes back, and returns within a few minutes. Apparently, she is bawling her eyes out in bed because she has just today come to the realization that someday she will die. ”I know I will die someday, Daddy, and I don’t want to. I’m scared to die.”

Christ on a Cracker.

I remember having these same exact fears, these same exact tears as a little girl. Lying in bed (my parents swore it was just a tactic to stay up later) begging for more hugs, more kisses, because I was so sure that my parents were going to die someday and it was probably today and oh jeez that means someday I’m gonna die tooooooooooooo.

Yeah. That’s a fresh wound.

And of course Hubs said all the right things, and it doesn’t matter what he said because each parent has to answer these questions in their own way, in their own time. She calmed down.

But I went back there anyway; of course I did. I asked her about her feelings, but she told me she wasn’t worried anymore because Daddy helped her.  We chatted for a while. I kissed her soft cheeks, brushed her hair out of her face. I asked her questions about school. We giggled and talked about what we’re thankful for. She’s thankful for her “wonderful, beautiful family where everyone loves each other and we have fun and hug and my brothers wrestle me.” I know that I was there in that twin bed just as much for myself as I was for her.

There’s a lot out there right now, both nationally, locally, and just in my circle of friends. Babies missing, babies gone, babies who never drew their first breath, babies who are sick and hurting. Just thinking about it… It’s like trying to run in a steam sauna, the air so thick and oppressive that it takes extra effort to draw breath. Because I can’t even imagine it even for a second.  The walls start to close in. And you start to question how there could ever be any such thing as justice.

Questions of “how can they”–  how could they do that — how can they stand it— how are they still standing— how can they take that pain– HOW CAN THEY…

I try not to think about it. I try to remember to be thankful, to be aware of the many ways in which I am blessed. My children are all tucked warm, safe, healthy in their beds.

I try not to think about it. But just like Funk, late at night, the thoughts creep in. There are no guarantees. There is no way to stop life from happening to us, both good and bad. I do not stay awake afraid to die. But the thought of anything ever happening to my babies can leave me up late into the night, tears soaking my pillow, eyes nearly swollen shut.

I try not to think about it. But no one ever thinks it will happen to them.

So, we do the best we can to live life the best we can in the time we have. To appreciate what we have. To love our kids. To protect them and maybe even hover a little bit even when it’s not necessary.

Because it’s all we can do.

 

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